Purpose, Part I
by LDaemon
Summary: Hermione suffers an unspeakable tragedy. Severus tries to be noble in the face of his evolving feelings for her. Can they find love in war? AU in that it begins Christmas holidays of trio's 7th yr, HBP disregarded but Horcruxes remain. Characters Canon
1. Help

**Disclaimer: **Everything you recognize belongs to the inimitable JK Rowling and Co, who are kind enough to allow us to play with her toys. Everything else is mine.** No moneys made, no moneys sought**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1. Help<strong>

"Help me! Please!"

The cry that tore through the foyer of 12 Grimmauld Place was one the likes of which Severus Snape had very rarely heard; it was at once enraged and defeated. And he found himself thoroughly unsettled by it, a feeling seemingly shared by the Order members seated at the table as all turned their attention to the hallway.

Hermione Granger burst through the door, another plea for help spilling from her lips. Her frantic, hollow eyes quickly scanned the room of adults. Molly Weasley's maternal instinct immediately took over as she jumped up from her seat to rush to the girl's side.

"Please! You have to help me. I just left them! They're dead! Deatheaters! I just left them!" she cried incoherently, shaking her head, trembling as Mrs. Weasley attempted to calm her.

"Who? What, child? Your shoulder! It's bleeding!" she said, attempting to seat the girl in a chair.

Hermione did not have time for Mrs. Weasley's sympathies. She needed action. Turning to Albus Dumbledore, seated at the far end of the table, she advanced on the old wizard, her right hand going absentmindedly to her left shoulder. "Please, Professor Dumbledore! Please! I just left them! DO something!" she cried, her voice cracking.

"Who, Miss Granger?" he said, his eyes scanning the witch in front of him, taking in her bleeding shoulder. S_plinched, I expect,_ he thought fleetingly. The girl was haggard; puffy, blood-shot eyes, bruises where her neck met her shoulder, limping slightly as she crossed the room to him.

"My parents! Deatheaters came to my house! They killed them!" she cried, releasing her shoulder and gripping Dumbledore's forearms tightly in her blood stained hands, fresh tears streaming down her face. Gasps erupted from the table. "I couldn't do anything! I couldn't do anything! I tried bringing them here! I couldn't! Please! You have to go to my house! You have to get them; I can't just leave them there!"

Severus had not moved throughout the scene; he sat, stunned into absolute inaction. He had never seen the girl like this; she was the know-it-all, the smart one, the logical member of the golden trio, always so composed and collected.

"Remus! Arthur! Come with me," Dumbledore said, relinquishing the girl, who was beginning to sway on her feet, back into Mrs. Weasley's arms.

She immediately sat Hermione in a chair and began inspecting her shoulder as Minerva McGonagall came around the table to join her, both murmuring soothing nonsensical words. Severus stood to join the men making their way to the door. "No, Severus." Dumbledore looked back. "You are needed here; I expect the tremors will start soon."

_Tremors? _he thought, turning back to the girl. She was attempting to wrestle away from the two women, crying about going with Dumbledore. He moved Minerva aside without a word and crouched before Hermione. He began unbuttoning the top of her shirt, pushing the fabric gingerly off of her left shoulder. She had splinched herself badly on her journey to Headquarters.

"Accio Dittany!" he called, his hand lifted to accept the bottle flying down from the headquarters' infirmary. "I'm afraid this will hurt, Miss Granger." He began applying the potion to her shoulder, chanting a low incantation to speed up the healing. She did not even flinch as the potion steamed in her wound.

He lifted his eyes momentarily to her face; Hermione had gone nearly catatonic. The dark amber eyes that were constantly alive, consistently thinking, always questioning him, had now been rendered blank. They were glazed and unfocused, fixed somewhere over Severus' left shoulder. There was horror there. She had seen things, he was sure of it. He knew that look, had seen it in some variation or another for the past twenty years. It was a look of defeat and utter despair.

"We need to move her to the sitting room. She needs to lie down. Give her a Blood-Replenisher, from the infirmary. I will go to Hogwarts for the Ante-Cruciatus…"

"Cruciatus?" asked Minerva, eyes-wide as she and Mrs. Weasley stood on either side of the girl.

"I would be surprised if they didn't Crucio her, Minerva," he sighed, turning towards the sitting room to the Floo.

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><p>Five minutes later he was back, coming through the Floo to find Minerva and Molly attempting to make Hermione sit on the sofa. She was struggling against them, trembling and mumbling about Dumbledore and what was taking him so long.<p>

"I told you she needed to lie down! Were my instructions not clear?" he snarled, advancing towards the girl and man-handling her onto her back on the sofa.

"We tried. She kept trying to leave," Molly said, coming around the back of the sofa to hold the still struggling girl down.

"You could not restrain one Gryffindor? Between the pair of you?" he spat out. Tilting Hermione's twitching head back; he tipped the Ante-Cruciatus into her mouth, lightly massaging her throat to induce her to swallow. "Did you at least manage to give her the replenisher?"

"Yes," said Minerva, standing at Hermione's feet, still shell-shocked, staring at her favorite pupil. "She took it when we asked her to."

Now that she had swallowed the potion, Severus' eyes trailed down her body, methodically scanning for any other injuries. Her shirt had ridden up her torso as she twitched on the sofa and dark bruises were peeking just under the hem of the blouse. He moved away from her head, pulling her shirt up just under her breasts, revealing ugly purple bruises fanning her right side. The women gasped as he shook his head, pointing his wand at her ribs.

"What is it now, Molly? Seven? Eight children? I've lost count, but I would have thought that at _some point_ you would have learned to heal broken ribs," he said, narrowing his eyes as he heard her bones snap back into place.

"I didn't see it, we were -" she began, hands covering her mouth as she watched the bones pop.

"Wasting your time arguing with her instead of forcing her onto the sofa for treatment, yes I know." He leaned back on his heels and cast a series of diagnostic spells on Hermione, who had grown quiet.. not flinching when he healed her ribs nor showing any signs of noticing their presence at all. She stayed still, spine rigid, unfocused eyes staring at the ceiling above her.

The diagnostic spells revealed more severe nerve damage than Severus had been hoping for, suggesting sustained administration of the Cruciatus. He stood up, peering at her disturbingly impassive face, wondering, not for the first time, just what had happened that night and if Deatheaters had been involved, how he had not known of it.

"She appears to have slight muscle sprains in her shoulders, arms and right foot, no... internal injuries," he deduced, relieved to know she had not been violated. "We will need more Ante-Cruciatus. I have some in my stores at school. Heal the remaining injuries and levitate her to a bed upstairs, if you can manage it." With that, he turned back into the Floo and vanished in a puff of green smoke.

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><p>It was a long night for the occupants of 12 Grimmauld Place. Molly and Minerva had just finished settling Hermione into a bed upstairs; transfiguring her clothes into loose fitting pajamas and casting a series of cleansing and freshening spells in lieu of bathing her, when Severus returned with the potions. He glanced over the girl, ensuring that the two witches had healed all her wounds. He was about to leave to check in with Albus when the seizures began. The attack came suddenly; one minute Hermione was laying quietly, eyes closed and the next her face had pinched into an expression of acute agony as her body convulsed. Her limbs had a mind of their own, shaking, while her head twitched violently. Her back arched off the bed in a gross imitation of ecstasy as Severus brought his hands down on her shoulders, forcing her back flat on the bed.<p>

"Grab her legs!" he barked at the two witches. "Grab them and straighten them out! Don't let them bunch up! Massage the knots out. Force the knots out with your hands," he instructed as he roughly began kneading her upper arms. He moved down both arms simultaneously, his thumbs aggressively loosening the knots that were forming. He looked down at the two witches to check their progress.

"Be harder and rougher than you think you need to be. Miss Granger has no use for your tenderness right now."

"I don't want to hurt her," Mrs. Weasley said as she massaged Hermione's calves.

"Yes, when she loses the function of her toes because you allowed the nerves to bunch up and die, I'm sure she will be consoled by the fact that you spared her a few extra bruises."

At this, both witches began increasing the power and intensity of their administrations. Minerva, a fierce scowl on her face, took to Hermione's legs with vigor, viciously chasing away each and every knot she came across. The girl was silent throughout, gasping and sucking her breath at each convulsion; she did not scream, she never screamed. Severus found himself staring into her face, wondering what was wrong with her. Having endured the after effects of the Cruciatus many times, he knew how painful these tremors were, it was almost like experiencing the curse anew. _Why is she not screaming?_ he thought, watching her pinched and gasping face.

It took twenty minutes of consistent work before the convulsions fell into shudders. Hermione's face was flushed, a slight sheen of sweat covering her face and neck; she was breathing more evenly now, though shallower than usual, as if her body were afraid that deeper breaths would call the tremors back. Severus tipped more potion into her mouth while the witches straightened her clothes and covered her in the bed sheet.

"I think they're back," Minerva said, pushing some stray hairs off of her face.

"Yes," Severus agreed, straightening his posture while still looking down at the girl. "Someone must stay with her. We will need to repeat the process when the tremors return."

"I'll stay," said Molly; sitting in one of the chairs and pulling it closer to the bed. "You two go, I'll watch her."

"You will call us if she so much as trembles," Minerva said sternly to the witch as she followed Severus into the hall.

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><p>The debriefing with the order was interrupted twice by Hermione's convulsions, with a further three attacks before the sun came up. Arthur and Remus relieved the two witches for the latter attacks while Severus continued working on her arms, shoulders and abdomen. Hermione remained unconscious as night faded to day with still no improvement. Molly and Minerva took over mid-morning, aided by Dumbledore, as Severus returned to Hogwarts to brew additional Ante-Cruciatus potion. Without the girl's testimony, it was impossible to know how long she had been under the curse, but given the frequency and intensity of the tremors, Dumbledore and Severus both thought it to be easily at an hour or more.<p>

The morning of the third day found Severus seated at the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place with a cup of tea and the Prophet. He had spent the past three days more or less at headquarters, at Dumbledore's request, as Molly, Arthur, Remus and Minerva rotated to assist him during the convulsions. Hermione faded in and out of consciousness during that time; never lucid enough to provide an account of what had happened, but never asking after her parents either. She kept apologizing, kept saying there was nothing she could do, the Deatheaters had wanted nothing. Dumbledore and Severus were at a loss to comprehend what she was saying in these brief periods of awareness.

Severus was contemplating whether he would need to return to Hogwarts to brew anything else for the girl when she walked into the kitchen. He looked at her; took in her vacant eyes scanning the room, her disheveled, matted hair, her rigid posture. She appeared gaunt and … lifeless, as if she had no will for anything; he could not detect any magic from her. She just stood in the doorway looking at him with no expression.

"Miss Granger." He jumped up from his seat.

She flinched at his sudden movement and he stilled. He desired to approach her, take a closer look at her appearance, assess her recovery, but was fearful of causing any unnecessary distress. The last thing he needed was an emotional breakdown with none of the witches here to comfort the girl. She moved into the room, around the opposite end of the table, towards the tea kettle. It seemed to require all her concentration to open the cupboard, take down a cup and prepare her tea the muggle way. Severus contemplated offering to do it for her, but as she did not appear close to collapsing where she stood, he reconsidered and returned to his seat.

She poured the water in, placed the tea bag in the cup, dragging it around the water as she gazed out the window into the headquarters' backyard. Severus could see from her profile that she was not focused on anything; her mind was far from Grimmauld Place; where he did not know. _What is she thinking? What is she remembering?_ he found himself wondering after several minutes of silence, holding the _Prophet_ before him, but taking in nothing from the paper.

"Did you know?" Her voice came over him, low and weary. She did not turn from the window.

He lowered the paper and looked up at her. "Know what, Miss Granger?"

"That it was going to happen."

He said nothing, his mind refusing to believe that his treatment of the girl through the years, however caustic, would allow her to believe he was capable of permitting such a thing to happen, capable of not intervening, capable of such evil.

"I will not dignify your question with a response," he finally said, looking back down at the forgotten paper.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn around to face him, teacup in hand. She looked at him with a frighteningly expressionless face. He locked eyes with her and attempted to push into her mind, to see for himself what was behind those dark amber eyes. Her thoughts swirled around the forefront of her mind in a hurricane; a cyclone of blinding pain, rage, despair and grief. The force of the emotions was so strong; he had trouble maintaining his foothold in her mind. But he stood his ground, determined to make some order out of the chaos whirling in her thoughts. He felt her realize he was there and all of a sudden walls came down around him in her mind; shutting him out, all was black. He pulled out and refocused on her face - her still expressionless face - and wondered if she had unconsciously Occluded her thoughts and thrown him out. She seemed utterly unaware of what had transpired, her eyes still locked on his.

"You know I'm a spy for the Order, Miss Granger. You know I am on this side."

"I also know that many sacrifices have been made for the war effort. Many have died who might not have. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has counseled you to allow for some… sacrifices on our side," she replied, her tone even, no hint of anger or accusation. She was relaying facts to him and he wondered how much she knew; her and her friends were not members of the Order, though Dumbledore had told the-boy-who-lived-to-annoy more than he probably should have.

"He has," Severus admitted, "but such a sacrifice as this would not have been tolerated, I assure you. You and your… mental acuity have proven themselves far too vital to Potter's success to allow such a thing to happen. I assure you;" he repeated, "I had no prior knowledge of whatever occurred that night." He watched her absorb this information, wondering how she was filing it away in the manic swirl of thoughts he had seen. She gave a small nod, turned to pluck another teabag from the box and made her way out of the room.

"Are you experiencing any pain, Miss Granger?" he called as she reached the doorway.

"No."

"You ought to eat… for your strength," he heard himself say.

She paused, her head turning slightly, before resuming her path out of the room. Severus wondered if and, indeed why, his compassion should extend that far. As long as she was alive and no longer convulsing, he would leave the coddling to Molly or Minerva. Happy with this resolution; he stood, tugged the collar of his robe into place and headed for the Floo to inform the headmaster.

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><p><strong>AN Hope you like it! Second chapter up in a bit. Just for clarification, its not going to be too AU aside from the fact that they are currently in their seventh year at Hogwarts. Although the events of HBP didn't happen, the Horcruxes will nevertheless feature in the story. Snape is back to teaching potions... other than that, it should be easy enough to follow along and I won't stray too far from canon.**

**Also, clearly I took some liberty with the application of Cruciatus :p for dramatic effect. **

**Hope to hear from you!**


	2. Explanations

****Disclaimer: See Chapter 1****

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><p><strong>Chapter 2. Explanations<strong>

The members of the Order of the Phoenix' inner circle gathered around the kitchen table; Minerva, Arthur, Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-eye Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Severus and Dumbledore sat, quietly discussing the events of the past few days as they waited for Molly to bring the girl down to relay what had occurred that night.

"Do the boys know?" Hermione asked abruptly, sitting calmly on the bed of the room she had been staying in while Mrs. Weasley attempted to coax her wild, chestnut curls into a plait. Mrs. Weasley had babied her all day; bathing her, washing her hair, feeding and clothing the nearly catatonic girl. She felt Mrs. Weasley pause in her braiding.

"Yes," she said quietly. "They heard Arthur and me discussing it two nights ago. They burst into the kitchen, demanding to know everything. I'm sorry, dear."

"It's alright," Hermione said, staring at the opposite wall. "They're like my brothers, of course, I would have told them. Of course, they must know… will they be here tonight?"

"No, no, dear. Tonight is just the inner circle; no one else."

Ten minutes later, Hermione entered the kitchen warily, guided by Mrs. Weasley's hand on her back. She felt empty, weak and so very tired. She had not slept since regaining consciousness the previous morning, partly because her mind was consistently replaying the events like some unstoppable horror show and partly out of fear that the nightmares she would encounter while sleeping would be infinitely worse than the never-ending film she watched in her mind. The lack of sleep, the overwhelming grief, and lingering aches from the curse caused an uncomfortable numbness to descend on her.

Severus turned to watch the girl as she walked into the kitchen, quickly assessing her appearance. He had not seen her since their conversation the previous morning; he'd informed Dumbledore, waited for Molly to relieve him and returned to Hogwarts. He had immersed himself in strategy discussions with Dumbledore before retiring to his chambers to brew the hospital wing potions he'd been neglecting. Seeing her now, he had not thought it possible for her to look worse than she had the previous morning; she appeared stunned, arms wrapped about her midsection, her gaunt face pinched and taut. He wondered if the fact that she was conscious and aware was to fault for her deteriorating condition, she seemed to lean into Molly's hand rather than supporting herself and Severus found himself wondering whether Molly had gotten the girl to eat anything since arriving at Grimmauld place four days before.

Molly led the girl to a seat to the right of Dumbledore and across from Severus. Hermione sat; eyes on the table in front of her, she hadn't even taken note of who was present. She felt Mrs. Weasley leave her side, heading for the tea kettle.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore began; she did not look up at her name. "Allow me to express, for myself and the Order, our deepest and most profound condolences for your loss. Words fail even me at times such as these and all I can tell you is that you have the full backing and support of everyone in this room. This is your family, Miss Granger, it has been since you were twelve and I urge you... _I urge you_ to lean on us in this time of sorrow. Do not grieve alone, Hermione, we are _all_ here for you." Murmurs of agreement reached her ears from around the table and she felt Minerva's hand rubbing soothing circles in the middle of her back.

Hermione said nothing at this, keeping her eyes glued to the tabletop, willing herself not to break. She could feel an ever-swelling lump taking up residence painfully in her throat and she wondered, not for the first time, how she was going to manage to explain this to them. What would she say, where would she find the words, how could she get through the tale? Molly pressed a hot cup of tea in her hands.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore continued. "I realize how very difficult this will be for you; we have surmised little of what happened from our visit to your house, and I'm afraid there are quite a few holes that require filling."

"What did you do with them?" Hermione asked the question she had been unable to ask during any of Molly or Minerva's visits the previous day.

"Remus, Arthur and I went to your home; I requested Kingsley and Alastor's assistance as well. We confirmed your parents' death and decided that, given their status, it would be best to make it look like a muggle burglary gone awry. After going through the home for clues and magical signatures, which we did not find, we left Kingsley to tip off the muggle police, when they arrived, he persuaded them write it up as…"

"Persuaded?" Hermione interrupted. "He Confounded them?"

"Yes," Dumbledore continued. "He convinced them to write it up as a burglary and nothing more."

"And the… bodies?" she said, eyes on her tea.

"There will be a Muggle funeral so that their colleagues and friends - as well as your extended family, of course - can pay their respects. Molly and Arthur will assist you with this as well as with settling any bequests they have."

"Thank you," the girl said haltingly, her mind not comprehending the words 'funeral' and 'bequests'. "I suppose I should just tell you what happened."

"Please," Dumbledore encouraged. "Take as long as you'd like, we have time."

Hermione took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and sent up a silent prayer to she knew not who. She didn't lift her eyes to the adults around the table, doubting her ability to hold it together if she had to watch their reactions to her words.

"There was a knock on the door that day, around noon," she began.

"Noon?" Remus interrupted, looking at Dumbledore.

"I don't know the time exactly, but it was before lunch so yes," Hermione replied, noting the look that passed between the gentlemen. "I was upstairs and assumed one of my parents would answer it. About ten minutes later, I came down to the living room. I left my wand upstairs," she said, shaking her head, her eyes drifting up to the wall behind Severus; unfocused, unseeing. He could see she was wholly back in her home.

"There were two men there; from their robes I could tell they were Deatheaters. They had my parents bound on the floor. I tried to turn back upstairs for my wand before they saw me… but it was too late. One of them threw me against the far wall, by the bookshelf, using his wand. I was held there. They came up to me, the .. leader, he taunted me. Saying I was supposed to be the smart one, how could I be walking around, even in my own home, without my wand on me?" She shook her head again, as if she agreed with the logic.

"Did you recognize them?" Severus interjected. "The Deatheaters, you've encountered some of them, from the Ministry incident. Did you recognize them?"

Her eyes met his, an unreadable expression on her face. "No… they wore masks the whole time and I.. could not recognize their voices."

He tried again to slip into her mind, see if she were lying, but found his way blocked by a wall of insurmountable grief and rage. Her eyes flashed in anger and she dropped her gaze to her lap, breaking his connection.

"They bound me to the wall," she continued. "Invisible bonds… and they started attacking my parents where they lay. Crucio… slicing hexes… hexes I'd never seen before." She was blinking rapidly now, whether to dispel the images from her mind or to prevent the tears in her eyes from falling, the Order members could not tell. "I screamed, cried, _begged_ them to let my parents go. I screamed at them to tell me what they wanted. Their answer was to fire a Crucio at me." She bit her lower lip again, staring at the table. Putting her teacup down; she wrapped her arms around her midsection, rocking herself forwards and back.

"They didn't want anything!" She cried suddenly, tears falling freely down her cheeks. "I begged them. I offered them anything! _Anything!_ They wanted nothing, they just kept hitting me and.. and my parents with their hexes and curses. I would have given them anything; I would have told them anything! … I'm so sorry, Professor," she said, pleading at Dumbledore, not knowing what she wanted from him.

"Miss Granger, no," he said firmly, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Of course, you would have done anything to ensure their safety. I would not have expected anything less. Never apologize for that, Hermione." Minerva continued rubbing soothing circles in her back, shaking her head in denial. Tonks was wiping tears from her eyes, Remus and Arthur looked at her with sad eyes.

She took another deep breath, trying to compose herself, but she could not stop rocking. "I don't know how long it was, they.. they wouldn't stop. My mother," her breath hitched and a small sob escaped her. "I don't know how she continued to hold on. I thought for sure the hexes would have killed her." She shook her head. "My father kept… bargaining, offering them anything to let us go. After awhile the Deatheaters must have tired of hearing their pleas, they silenced them both. I don't know why they didn't do the same to me as I had not stopped screaming at them." Her voice was growing lower, quieter, as her face took on a horrifying visage, as if she were at that moment staring into the face of a monster. She stopped her story, unsure how to continue, how to explain what followed, what they would think of her when they knew.

"What then, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"They released me," she said slowly, robotically, her nostrils flaring at the remembrance. "Then.. I heard…" She shook her head again. "_Imperio_." Loud gasps shot around the table. No one moved, no one breathed, Moody bit out a low expletive as the Order members each attempted to surmise what the wretched curse had been used for.

"I didn't realize that you would remain... aware, under the Imperius, I thought… it would be blank or as if you had been Obliviated…" Hermione gasped out, her chest stuttering, shoulders shaking as she attempted to withhold her sobs. Her arms wrapped more tightly around her midsection as though she were afraid she would physically crumble at any point. "But I was aware, the whole time. No control, but fully… aware."

"What did they make you do?" Tonks cried out, unable to take the tension.

"The _Avada_," Hermione bit out. "On my mother," she sobbed, "my father ... he had to watch. They forced him to watch me kill her!" she cried. "He didn't know what the curse was. As far as he knew, it was me and no one else… though I was using the other Deatheater's wand… The look! That look he gave me! I knew! I knew he didn't understand." She was trembling violently in her seat now, her head shaking from side to side, trying desperately to get rid of the images. She was hyperventilating, sucking in air, but feeling no relief. "Then they made me kill him! They made me repeat it on him. His eyes… his eyes!" she cried, covering her face with her hands, fingers stretching up into her hairline, pulling at the thick strands there.

The Order was stunned into silence; even Dumbledore, who had seen much in his long life, could not comprehend such evil. Looking at the sobbing, shaking, broken girl in front of him, he wondered if their side had just been dealt a decisive blow. How would Harry do what needed to be done if Miss Granger remained lost in this grief? If she could not assist him, _think_ for him, how would Harry succeed?

Severus stood and went to his cloak to retrieve some potions he had brought to stock the infirmary with. He forced himself to not think on her story, forced himself to tamp down the rage he felt coursing through his veins; forced himself to instead think as a Deatheater, to think on why they had done this. What was the Dark Lord thinking? What purpose could this have served? He retrieved a Calming Draught and brought it to the girl, pressing it into her hand, stilling her shoulders, instructing her to swallow half the vial. She did as he bade her to, her breathing slowed almost immediately and a steady, if uncomfortable, calm descended on her. Severus returned to his seat, not looking at the girl, turning his face to Dumbledore instead.

"Hermione?" said Remus.

Silently, she turned her tear stained face in the direction of the werewolf.

"I'm sorry, but there is a timeline issue here," he said softly. She gazed at him wordlessly, waiting for him to go on. "You said they came in around noon. What time did it.. end? When they .. killed them?" he tried to be delicate, not wanting to incite her to further sobbing.

"I don't know," she sniffed taking a tissue from Minerva and wiping her face with it. "The sun had gone down, but I had lost track of time, maybe six, seven. I don't know." A look went around the table at this as the members who had been there that night realized what Remus was asking.

"But Hermione," he continued. "You didn't come here until nearly midnight. What happened in those missing hours?"

"They had bound me to the wall," Hermione said, her eyes falling to her lap.

"Yes," Remus replied. "You said that before, no, I meant _after_ it was over."

"They bound me to the wall," she repeated, looking up into the werewolf's face. "They re-bound me to the wall… and they.. left." Murmurs of distress went around the table, Minerva and Molly were openly weeping at this. Severus' eyes betrayed a hint of horror as he listened to the girl, wondering how they would prevent her from going mad after such an ordeal. "I couldn't move. I couldn't Accio my wand from my room… I could do nothing. Finally, after a time, the bonds fell of their own accord and I … Apparated here."

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><p><strong>AN Thoughts?**

**Like I said at the end of "The Story of Us", I'm going out of town, so story will resume in two weeks. :) see you then!**

**- LDaemon**


	3. Aftermath

**A/N I'm baaaaaack :) Thanks for all the lovely reviews and encouragement. I have about 30 chapters on this story already, but I expect it will be fairly long and so I sincerely hope you'll stick with me for it :D **

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Aftermath<strong>

"That poor, poor girl," Minerva said, for perhaps the twentieth time since Hermione had left the room claiming a desire to sleep. "Forced to remain in the room for hours.. with the bodies.. It's just so .. evil."

The other Order members murmured in agreement. Dumbledore sat in quiet contemplation, as did Severus, stealing glances at the headmaster, trying to surmise where the old man's thoughts had taken him.

"Dropped the ball a bit, eh Snape?" Mad-eye suddenly said, leaning against the far wall. Severus lifted his face to the ex-Auror, black eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What are you talking about, Moody?" Kingsley said.

"Just that our _spy_ seems to have missed quite a bit of spying… Dumbledore is always telling us how far you've gone in Voldemort's estimation, how highly he thinks of you, how much he trusts you. We're meant to believe he would not have told you of such an important operation?"

"It is precisely the important and sensitive nature of this operation which prevented him from informing me of it. You ought to realize as much, after all, was it not once your job to think as dark wizards do, Mad-eye?" Severus shot back at him, his silky baritone low and menacing.

"Tom could not have told Severus of this mission," Dumbledore said. "I do not think it is within Tom's ability to trust anyone to that extent. Even if he believes in Severus' unwavering loyalty, he would not have risked such a mission by making it known to him. He is a paranoid wizard; if there were even the slightest chance that the merest hint of humanity continued to reside in Severus, it would ruin the endeavor. No, no, I do not believe he would have trusted such a mission to him."

"At any rate," Severus added, "the attack was much too crude to require my services. Additionally, the Dark Lord is aware of the headmaster's talent for legilimancy and likely did not think it wise to risk it."

"You have an answer for everything, don't you Snape?" Moody grumbled from his position.

"Alastor, I have told you, my trust in Severus is absolute. I am certain he had no knowledge of this," Dumbledore responded. Severus turned to the headmaster to inform him that he did not require defending, when he saw Dumbledore pull a lemon drop from the pocket of his robe and pop it in his mouth. Shaking his head in bemusement, Severus opted to remain silent.

"Why, though? What purpose did this serve?" Kingsley said, voicing Severus' earlier thought.

"The Dark Lord is … aware of the amount of assistance Miss Granger affords Potter. He is not ignorant of the hand she has had in many of Potter's earlier successes," Severus offered.

"And how did he hear about that, I wonder?" Moody said. Severus shot him a look which would have sent saner wizards cowering.

"Her role at the ministry that year, in addition to everything many of the Deatheaters' children have learned as her classmates would have been more than enough," Minerva said.

"But why kill them?" Kingsley returned to his original line of questioning. "Why not torture them but leave her parents alive, threatening to kill them if she resumes helping Harry?"

"Perhaps they knew we would send her parents into hiding once she told us," Tonks replied with a shrug.

"They did it because they wished to break her," Severus said, looking at the far wall. "They more than likely believed, and perhaps rightly so, that this incident, this loss, would completely fracture Miss Granger's psyche. That, after that night, the grief and guilt she would feel would render her inconsolable. Perhaps they hoped she would be so guilt-ridden, so grief stricken, that she would abandon our world.. that she would turn away from magic entirely and Potter would be left to win the war without his brain contingent."

"Guilt?" Minerva said, seemingly missing the wizard's point. "Whatever should she have to feel guilty about?"

"She murdered her parents, Minerva," Severus replied, holding his hand up when the witch began to protest. "I realize she was under the Imperius, I'm sure that _logically_, she realizes it was not her fault, but logic seems to have deserted her for the moment. The truth is that, regardless of the curse, she will always remember it as being her doing. She will always have the image of herself casting the curse that ended their lives. I imagine it will haunt her for quite some time," he finished, running his fingers through his black hair.

The table fell silent as the Order members contemplated the fate of the war without Hermione's active involvement. Dumbledore in particular seemed distressed though not particularly surprised by Severus' revelation.

"What are we going to do now?" Arthur said after a few minutes.

"I'm afraid we've done all we can. Miss Granger has no family left to speak of; her grandparents have long since passed, her parents had no siblings… She is quite alone," the headmaster said, shaking his head sadly. "For now, we may console her as much as we can and support her when she returns to school."

"Harry and Ron will want to avenge her," Remus commented. Severus let out a soft snort.

"Given that the girl did not recognize her attackers, it will be rather difficult," Kingsley responded.

"We shall have to keep a closer eye on them," said Minerva with a firm nod to Remus, who had been reinstated as Defense against the Dark Arts Professor that year.

"As far as Harry goes," Dumbledore began, only to be interrupted by a blood-curdling scream from upstairs. The Order members, instincts honed from years of combat, jumped up as one and raced to the door, thundering up the stairs.

Severus and Remus were the first to burst into the girl's room; Remus rushed to her side while Severus cast a surreptitious but thorough glance about the room in case of any intruders, though the rational part of his mind protested how impossible it was given that the place was Secret Kept.

"It's alright, Hermione, it was just a nightmare," Molly said, rubbing the girl's back, soothing her as Minerva smoothed her hair back, "just a nightmare."

Hermione's eyes were wide and unblinking, her chest heaving, her top clinging to her sweat-soaked skin. She did not seem to notice the number of people in her room; nevertheless, Arthur began ushering the other members back out and down the stairs. Severus stole one last look at the girl before turning to follow the others.

"Severus," Dumbledore called from his position at her bed where his hand rested on her forehead, "perhaps Dreamless Sleep?"

Severus hesitated; the potion was a relieving one to be sure, he himself had taken it on many occasions. He also knew how addictive it could be, how a person could easily grow dependent on it and refuse to allow their mind to work out the full horrors of their waking thoughts through their dreams… oh yes, Severus was quite familiar with the grotesque healing power of nightmares. But he only nodded to the headmaster, before leaving to collect the potion.

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><p>Hermione spent the remainder of the Christmas holidays at Grimmauld Place in a grief clouded daze; eating only when Molly, who had taken up residence at headquarters as the Burrow was deemed too boisterous, forced her to. Showering only when Molly coaxed her to; sleeping little and saying even less. By the end of the week, Molly could still count on her fingers and toes the number of words Hermione had uttered outside of relaying the events of that hateful night.<p>

A few days later, Hermione numbly attended a funeral she had only the vaguest recollections of. Mrs. Weasley had sneaked her a double dose of Calming Draught, against Snape's wishes, and Hermione drifted through the service in a hazy, tenuous daze; wedged between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley with the boys standing to the side, she watched but did not see her parents' coffins lowered into the ground, heard but did not listen to the - no doubt eloquent - words spoken by their minister. She took in none of it; simply stood there, blind, deaf and dumb to everything surrounding her. The service ended and she endured a line of mourners who, by turns, hugged, kissed and shook her hand as they paid their respects. And finally, when it was over, she was free to return to Grimmauld, collapse in the bed and sink into oblivion.

The 'bequest' hearing was even worse. This she sat through quietly, staring blankly out the grimy window of the London solicitor's office as he detailed her holdings and inheritance. The liquidation of the dental practice, what to do with their family home and possessions, what options she had concerning it all; Hermione barely took any of it in, allowing Mr. Weasley to take all the decisions for her and simply signing on the dotted line when it was asked of her. And once they were back at Grimmauld, she nodded mutely, not pausing on her way up the stairs, when he told her that he would settle it all and have the funds transferred to her Gringott's account as soon as possible.

The boys came to see her one evening towards the end of the week, sitting awkwardly in her room attempting to console her properly as they hadn't been able to at the service. Ron was livid, vowing revenge, while Harry repeatedly asked if she had not remembered anything distinctive about the Deatheaters, anything at all. She had said very little to the pair of them, opting to stare quietly at the wall as they fumed. Later, after they had left, Hermione fell into an exhausted and deep sleep, the nightmares remaining at bay until the small hours before dawn. She had bolted upright in bed, screaming as she heard the curse reverberate in her head, shaking it to dispel the look in her father's eyes, the image that would not release her from its grip. She had not taken Dreamless Sleep that night; Professor Snape, through Molly, was rationing her supply of the only potion that gave her any relief and she resented him for it. He was not even there; what should he care if she grew dependent on it?

She lay back down in her bed, trying to regulate her breathing, listening for signs of whether her scream had woken Molly. She methodically drummed her fingers in an intricate pattern on the mattress, concentrating on the order and repetition.. Pinkies, index, thumbs, thirds, middles.. Pinkies, index, thumbs, thirds, middles. Staring at the ceiling, she felt her breathing slowly return to normal; her thoughts strayed to the coming week. She would be back at Hogwarts; Dumbledore had acquiesced to her request for a private room, giving her one of the apprentice chambers in Gryffindor tower. She did not think she could tolerate the inane, incessant nattering of the girls in her dorm. She just wanted the year to be over. She wanted to be left to her solitude; she loathed dealing with the students reactions to her parents' death.

How was she going to get through this? How would she stomach the pity she was sure to see in their eyes? The taunts and mocking she was sure to endure from the Slytherins? She wondered, not for the first time, whether it would not be better to just run away. She could pack what little had been brought back from her house by the Order members… Two trunks of clothes and personal effects, another of books, her wand… Crookshanks, who had barely left her bed since being brought back by Remus after finding the familiar waiting for Hermione in the backyard of her house… She could gather them all up; shrink what could be shrunk, and just leave. Oh, she would feel guilty for abandoning her friends, especially Harry… but it could in no way compare to the guilt currently ripping her soul to pieces. Soul? She blinked at the ceiling, wondering if she even still retained one. She must, for what else could that searing pain be, but her soul ripping apart? Although, perhaps the pain was the gaping hole where her soul used to reside? She fleetingly thought whether there was a book somewhere that would explain what happened to a soul once you had murdered someone, wondered if anyone had documented the effects of shooting the curse under Imperius to a loved one. What would something like that do to her soul? Surely the damage could not be as bad as intentionally, willfully killing a loved one. But then, who would be mad enough to willfully, maliciously, _Avada_ someone they loved?

She was rambling, thoughts tumbling over one another haphazardly in her head. She had always been so good at organizing her thoughts, she mused; compartmentalizing what she could and systematically dealing with and filing new information as it came to her. But now, her organizational system had been thrown to the wind and she could not make heads or tails of the notions whipping around her mind. She stared intently at the yellow water stains in the ceiling.

Pinkies, index, thumbs, thirds, middles…


	4. Hogwarts

**A/N You will notice that most of the topics discussed in the Potions class deal with 6th year potions, reason being that I couldn't come up with 'original' potions ideas which would serve the dialogue I was aiming for. I hope you can gloss over this ;) I may make alterations and such to the potions as it serves the story.  
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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 4. Hogwarts<strong>

The first two weeks back at the castle saw Hermione withdraw further and further into herself until almost no trace of the Gryffindor in her remained. Dumbledore had made the announcement of her parents' death at the inaugural feast, he admitted they had been murdered but thankfully did not go into any details. Hermione's head dipped so low her forehead nearly touched the tabletop as Harry and Ron drew closer to either side of her. Gasps and cries of disbelief had shot around the tables, the students trying to absorb this latest development in the war. The Gryffindor table turned to Hermione as if seeing her for the first time, more than one student thinking what chance any of them stood if their most intelligent member had not been able to protect her own. Hermione kept her head down, concentrated on breathing and the pattern drummed by her fingers in her lap.

Over the next few weeks, Harry and Ron shadowed her constantly, creating a perimeter around her to prevent any Slytherin students from talking to her. Most of their classmates had given them a wide berth, however, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had managed to launch several verbal attacks as the trio walked through the corridors to class. At one point, Ron hexed Malfoy in retaliation, earning them both detentions. Hermione spent her time between her room and the library, rarely venturing into the tower's common room and never lingering in the halls between classes or meals.

The professors were nauseatingly sympathetic; each had spoken to her at the end of their first class, offering condolences and assuring her of their forgiveness should she be unable to complete assignments on time. Each professor promised her extensions and understanding should she desire to not participate. Each professor, that is, except one. Snape was the same caustic bastard he had always been; he allowed her no leniency, no understanding, no extensions, and no mistakes. He continued to mock her and her friends in class, demanding nothing but the utmost attention and effort. Hermione found herself appreciative of the normalcy of the professor's behavior; she detested the pity she saw in all of her teacher's eyes. She made no use of their concessions, throwing herself more forcibly into her studies than ever before in an effort to keep the images at bay. She studied day and night, completing assignments on time and, as usual, adding an extra foot or two to most of her essays, relying almost entirely on her readings to get through her classes. Her only academic change had been a marked halting of class participation; she idled away most class hours taking notes or staring blankly at the board, unable to concentrate on the lectures and wholly unwilling to draw attention to herself by raising her hand.

Her Potions professor was aware of this change; he had never desired her participation in class, had indeed lost count of the number of times he had snapped at her for her incessant hand waving. But this term he uncomfortably noticed her unwillingness to raise her hand or offer a recitation of the text book. It made it difficult for him to lob insults her way without seeming to invite her participation. And so, for the first few weeks of classes he had let her be, confining his barbs and remarks to inspections of her still annoyingly accurate potions. He also couldn't help but take note of the rapid deterioration of her appearance; she was now a mere shell of her former self; practically emaciated, uniform hanging off her small frame; her formally wild curls perpetually pulled back in a severe bun, eyes clouded and ringed in dark circles. He could tell she was only sleeping on the nights when Minerva gave her Dreamless Sleep, which Severus was still rationing for fear she would grow dependent on it.

One day, nearly two months since resumption of term, Severus could stand her silence no longer; he required a response from her and he required it now. He was lecturing the class before allowing them to begin brewing, wondering how he might coax her into a response.

"Who can explain the properties of the Draught of the Living Death?" he intoned from his position at the head of the class. A Slytherin at the front raised his hand.

"Mr. Bernard."

"It's a potion that makes the drinker look as though they're dead," he offered.

"Astute," the professor remarked dryly, beginning a walk down the row of tables, "something a bit more in-depth, perhaps?" He stopped midway through the class, looking around the room. He fixed his gaze on the table at the back where the trio sat; the girl's head was down as she doodled on her notebook. "Miss Granger. Perhaps you would like the chance to showcase what you know of the Draught?"

All three Gryffindors looked up at him; Potter and Weasley's eyes narrowed in indignation while the girl cocked her head to the side.

"No… thank you… sir," she said in low, measured tones.

A hush fell over the classroom. It was just not done. Students did not refuse to answer Professor Snape's questions, they could claim to not know the answer, but to refuse could cost upwards of twenty house points. The potions master narrowed his black eyes as he looked at her, wondering how to play this.

"Come now, Miss Granger," he finally said, his low baritone whipping around her. "It need not be original; you are free to quote from your beloved text books." A ripple of snickering came from the Slytherins across the room. He felt a flicker of triumph as a spark flashed in the girl's eyes. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

"The Draught of the Living Death is an extremely powerful sleeping potion which sends the drinker into a deep trance that mimics the state of death."

"Merely rephrasing Mr. Bernard's answer, however articulately, will not suffice, Miss -"

"If brewed correctly, the potion resembles a smooth, black currant colored liquid at the halfway point before turning a light shade of lilac and finally clearer than water at the end. The finishing requires seven counter-clockwise stirs and the effects of the Draught can be reversed using a Wiggenweld Potion."

He watched her finish her recitation, certain that each word matched those found in the text. He was no longer impressed by her ability to quote her text books verbatim; seven years in his class had more than convinced him of her eidetic memory.

"Accurate… if, uninspired," he drawled. "What ingredients do the two potions share?"

"Asphodel and Sloth Brain," she replied, her chin lifted in defiance.

"Which is responsible for the joint purple coloration?"

"Asphodel."

"Why?"

"It's related to Lilium, specifically lavender calla lilies."

He stopped at this, arms crossed in front of his chest. He heard the students flipping the pages of their books searching for the reference. They would find no mention of it; that particular information was not relayed in the text, though it could be found in auxiliary tomes. Her posture remained straight; amber eyes locked on him, unmindful of her classmates, one eyebrow cocked and waiting for a follow up.

"Shall I describe the properties of the Wiggenweld for you, sir?"

Somehow she managed to inflect her 'sir' with the slightest hint of derision, as though she knew what he had been aiming to accomplish and was now mocking him for it. He wanted to take house points, but thought it would be quite ludicrous, _even for him_, he admitted grudgingly to himself, as her answers had been beyond perfect.

He threw her a contemptuous glare. "No, Miss Granger, I have had quite enough of your showboating for today." A disturbingly brazen smirk quirked her lips as he turned to face the room. "Well? What are you waiting for? Gather your ingredients and brew!" He tossed one last glare at the girl before returning to his desk at the front of the class.

"Hateful git," Ron muttered under his breath as they moved as one towards the ingredients.

"Five points from Gryffindor and you will hold your tongue, Mr. Weasley," Professor Snape said, masking a touch of triumph, as he took his seat.

The class brewed quietly for a time; pages rustling, students conferring in low whispers as they all attempted to complete the difficult potion. The trio was working more or less in sync, preparing and adding their ingredients to their individual cauldrons almost at the same time, a synchronicity born from their years of sharing potions classes. They had all successfully made it to the midway point before Hermione and Ron, standing side-by-side, began having difficulty taming their Sopophorous beans, which kept escaping the edges of their knives and skipping off the table. As one of her errant beans went flying off the tabletop, she saw the professor capture it smoothly in his right hand. She looked at him, flexing her fingers, an almost threatening gesture coming from the hand holding the knife, as she waited for him to berate her. Instead, he simply placed the bean back on the table, smirked and moved on. Glancing at Harry to see his progress, she noted that his potion had already turned lilac. He looked at her, chuckling silently at the indignant look on her face which plainly told him she could not believe he had advanced further than her.

"Crush the beans with the dull edge and juice them. Don't cut," he instructed in a low whisper, his eyes clocking the professor's position in the room.

"The text book clearly says to cut," Hermione argued; her finger on the appropriate page in the book. Harry just shrugged in reply. She puffed out a breath and flipped her knife over, bending her elbow to put some strength behind it.

"The know-it-all requiring help from a classmate? Now I've seen everything," the professor drawled. The trio whipped their heads to the side; none of them having seen the potions master come upon their table. He cocked his head and Hermione felt something in her stomach tighten uncomfortably. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Miss Granger, but are you not the one usually providing the instruction?"

"Sir," Harry began.

"Given that it is your classroom, Professor," Hermione cut in before Harry incited the potions master's ire, "I would never presume such a thing; calling into question, as it undoubtedly would, your competence as a teacher."

The professor's eyes widened perceptively, mouth opening to deduct as many House points as he could get away with. The room had fallen silent and the Slytherins squirmed in their seats in anticipation of the delicious forthcoming punishment.

"Which, of course, is beyond reproach," she finished smoothly; her amber eyes, more alive than he had seen them in months, fixed on him, awaiting his reply. Something in those eyes tamped down his anger and he found himself biting down a smirk at her decidedly Slytherin comment.

"Carry on," he grunted, before moving to the other end of the room, noting the looks of surprise and disappointment from his House.

Twenty minutes later, they were nearing the end of class and Hermione was nearing the end of her sanity; she had managed to push past the lilac stage and had stirred in the remaining ingredients, but her potion stubbornly refused to turn completely clear. It was what one would call water clear, but she could detect a faint whisper of haze lingering in it. A quick glance to her friend's cauldrons showed that Harry had reached her stage and was bottling his potion while Ron had given up somewhere in the lilac stage and was bottling his as incomplete. Hermione felt a frown color her face and turned her attention back to her cauldron and text book.

"Hermione?" Harry said, "Class is nearly over. Your potion is excellent, just bottle it."

"Should _I _not be the one to make such a judgment, Mr. Potter?" Professor Snape snapped, having rounded to their table when he noticed Granger as the only one not yet bottling.

He was anxious to let the class go and wanted to hurry them along. The girl looked up as he spoke, emitting a small sigh and attempting to keep her eyes from rolling towards the ceiling. Oh, no.. this would not do, he had been much too lenient with the girl that day if she felt she could openly show such insolence. He peered into her cauldron, noting how she tensed slightly as he stood beside her.

"The potion is acceptable, Miss Granger," he said almost immediately. "Bottle it and bring it up front with the others." He began moving away.

"But, sir," she called, "the text says it ought to be perfectly clear. There is still some haze in mine."

"I said it was acceptable," he repeated, turning back to her and crossing his arms, silently daring her to respond.

"Yes, but 'acceptable' is not 'perfect', is it? 'Acceptable' doesn't even have to mean 'correct'," she shot back at him; eyes firmly alight now, curls which had escaped that abominable bun falling about her face, a light sheen of sweat coating her neck where she had loosened her tie during her work. He felt an alien twitch in his groin as he looked at her, a flutter of panic erupting in his chest at the unexpected, and thoroughly unwelcome, arousal. He sharply turned his back on the class.

"I have no time for your semantics, Miss Granger. Bottle your potion," he began rapidly making his way to the front of the room.

"Hermione…" Ron started, moving to her side to attempt to bottle the potion for her. She batted his hands away and called back to her professor.

"There are still ten minutes to class, sir. Would it have taken you longer to point out what I could have done better than it took you to argue with me -"

"I am not interested in your pursuit for perfection, Miss Granger!" he bellowed, whirling in front of his desk to face the class again, an ugly sneer twisting his face. "As I told all of you in your first class with me; potion making is an art, an art which requires intuition; an indefinable, _unteachable _feel for the subject. It is not something which can be cajoled out of a teacher as though it were additional Arithmancy equations!"

"But, sir, how can you even know if this circumstance falls into the category of your so-called 'intuition' if you will not allow me to even discuss it?" she shouted back, completely unmindful of the consequences.

The silence in the classroom was absolute; not a sound was heard as the students watched this interplay between the two. The professor was breathing steadily, his obsidian eyes locked on the girl, a scowl so fierce on his face that Harry feared he may actually hex her. Hermione stood defiant; the Gryffindor lion out in full force across her face, her eyes brighter than Harry had seen them since before Christmas. The professor and Hermione glared silently at one another for what seemed like an eternity, all of the professor's concentration centered on taming his errant thoughts as his groin continued to twitch at the girl's words.

"You have vexed me quite thoroughly today, Miss Granger," he finally said, his tone low and menacing. "Considering recent… events… I would have expected a bit more …reserve from you." His Slytherins snickered quietly as he saw something like hurt flash in her eyes.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for your attitude," he said, turning again and making his way behind his desk. "And detention, here, tonight after supper," he tacked on as he entered his office.

_Why would you do such a thing? _he thought frantically, as he rounded the desk in his office to the en suite bathroom. _Why not a detention with Filch? Why would you have her come here? _He stood at the sink, looking at his miserable face in the mirror.

Was the torture he was currently in not enough? he thought as he adjusted his trousers, trying not to brush against his increasingly tightening erection. How had this happened? When? And, for Merlin's sake, _why?_ He could not desire the girl, of course, he could not. She was a child, a foolish little chit who lived to annoy him. Yes, he had felt something like compassion for her as she recovered at Grimmauld Place; yes, he had found himself feeling sorry for her as he watched her twitching in the discomfort of her dreams. That did not lead to this, whatever this was. No, no, it was a random occurrence. He had been … neglecting himself and this was the result. His body simply chose an inopportune time to express its needs, that was all. The fact that he had called her here for detention simply meant his brain had no bearing on what his body had done; for surely if the brain had connected with the body's reaction, it would have had more sense than to call the girl here.

Satisfied with his thought progression, he gave a firm nod to his reflection before turning away from the sink. He glanced at the toilet on his way out of the room and paused. Letting out a sigh; he undid his trousers and set about obtaining his relief, images of past harlots flipping resolutely through his mind.

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><p><strong>AN A little bit of denial for our professor... How will he cope?**

**Up next: Hermione's first (of many?) detention with Snape wherein Severus tries to quell his curiosity about the Gryffindor..**

**Thoughts?**


	5. Detention with Snape, Part I

**A/N Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed. I may not get to respond to all of them, but they are read and appreciated :D  
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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Detention with Snape, Part I<strong>

"It's just not fair," Ron said, for perhaps the tenth time since they had sat down to dinner. "He's unhappy when you keep to yourself _and_ he's unhappy when you participate! There's just no pleasing the git."

"Which git?" Ginny said from across the table.

"The dungeon bat, obviously," Ron replied jerking his head towards the high table. "He gave Hermione detention tonight for having the nerve to actively participate in class."

Hermione exhaled with a small smile, shaking her head at Ron's defense of her.

"But tonight is the mixer!" Ginny exclaimed.

Some unknown genius on the teaching staff had decided that a monthly mixer would bolster House relations between the students and help lower the animosity and mistrust brought on by the war. She spent all day, everyday, for months at a time with these people. Hermione couldn't think how a monthly party would change anything. She had already managed to evade the previous two events; in mourning for the first and feigning an ill stomach for the second. She felt a small smile on her face to know that Professor Snape had just given her cause to miss the third.

"And we're hosting it too!" Ginny said. "Ooh! That hateful man."

"Its fine, Ginny," Hermione said, "I'm actually quite thankful to have an iron-clad reason not to attend."

"Oh, Hermione… I know you're still grieving and everything," the witch began. Hermione tilted her head slightly, listening intently to where Ginny was going with this. No one had spoken to her about her grieving, about how she was handling things; they walked on eggshells around her, they told her they would listen if she needed to talk, but none had commented on it. "But, don't you think it would do you good to be around your friends?"

"I am around my friends," Hermione replied in a low, even tone. Harry and Ron tried to get Ginny's attention to make her stop; they could hear the warning in Hermione's voice.

"I meant your other friends, Hermione. Seamus, Dean, Neville, the Patels, Luna… Lavender?" she carried on.

"Have you gone quite mad?" Hermione said incredulously in a low whisper; trying to tamp down the irrational spark of anger flaring in her gut. "Luna and Neville, maybe, but everyone else is a classmate, Ginny. I would have thought you would know me at least to _that_ extent… Lavender," she scoffed, shaking her head.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," Ginny said, looking around the table to see if anyone had heard, but they were all absorbed in a story McGlaggen was telling at the other end of the table.

"You didn't upset me," Hermione replied, swirling her cup of tea. "I'm perplexed… but not upset." She gave the red-headed girl a small smile before tipping back the rest of her cup. Ginny beamed at her and returned to her dessert.

A pair of dark eyes watched the exchange between the witches from the high table, noting that the Granger girl had eaten two spoonfuls before spending the last half hour pushing the remainder of her meal around on the plate. _Why do you care whether she eats?_ his mind taunted. He saw her tilt her head to something the redhead said, seeing the slightly worried looks that passed between Potter and the dunderhead, and wondered what the Weaslette had said. _Why do you care what was said? _the voice supplied. He shook the thought away and focused on his meal, not giving the table another glance.

After supper, Harry walked Hermione down to the dungeons as Ron took off for a game of chess with a Ravenclaw. Hermione liked her time alone with Harry; she had felt her bond with him strengthen over the last few weeks. It had always felt as though they were siblings, and their now shared orphan status just lent a silent reinforcement to it. Harry would routinely join her in the library or her room, just sitting quietly with her as she read or did homework. She looked at him walking beside her now and suddenly felt grateful she had not given in to her impulse to run away.

"You know Ginny didn't mean anything by what she said, right?" Harry said suddenly. "We don't know how to deal with this, we want to help, but it's just…"

"There's nothing to be done, Harry," she replied looking at her feet as they walked through the corridors. "I know I've become difficult to be around. Why do you think I spend so much time in the library?"

"How is _that_ different than usual?" Harry joked tentatively, casting a furtive side glance at her. She favored him with a small smile. "You're not difficult, Hermione. It's not supposed to be easy. We just - none of us knows what to say or do. When it will be ok to laugh again? Or talk about normal stuff?"

"What normal stuff?" she asked.

"I don't know… Quidditch."

"I might remain in mourning forever if that's what I have to look forward to," she replied. She turned to look at him; he had stopped halfway down the stairs to the dungeons and wore a look of shock on his face, unsure whether he ought to laugh or take that seriously. "It was a joke, Harry. I am still somewhat capable of making them." She took him by the arm and resumed walking. "I want you all to talk about whatever you want to talk about. Don't change anything because of me; I won't think you insensitive for it."

They walked silently for a spell, arm-in-arm, each lost in their own thoughts.

"We need to talk about my meetings with Dumbledore," Harry suddenly said.

"Professor Dumbledore," she absentmindedly corrected, "you said he didn't want you speaking of them." Harry had begun meeting with the headmaster two to three times a week since term had resumed.

"I know, but I think I should." He stopped in front of the potions classroom and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "The things he's talking about now, the stuff he's telling me." He shook his head. "A lot of it is going right over my head. It's too much. I want to talk to you about it."

"I don't know, Harry," she replied with furrowed brows. "If Professor Dumbledore told you not to, I'm sure he had a reason."

"Dumbledore likes keeping secrets, Hermione. I don't know why. Maybe it was the first war, maybe that's just how he is, I don't know. But you and Ron have always been there for me, _with me_… I have to tell you, you have to know."

She looked into his earnest emerald eyes; saw his anxiety plainly written across his face. "Ok, Harry," she said, nodding slowly. "Ok… you know I want to help, so, yes, we'll talk about it, whenever you want." He glanced at the door beside them. "Though, clearly not right _now_," she amended. He chuckled softly and pulled her into a tight embrace.

Hermione suddenly realized how long it had been since she had been held, truly held, not a lightly comforting or consoling hug, but an actual embrace. She released the almost permanent tension in her shoulders and relaxed into Harry, letting him support her weight, burying her face in his neck. He felt her quiet tears wetting him, but did not pull away. He just held her tighter, trying to convey with his body what he had a hard time saying to her face, to those eyes that he barely recognized anymore.

"I should take points for conduct unbecoming a student, though I do not believe your House could stand to lose them," a dark voice drawled sarcastically from behind him. Harry released Hermione, keeping an arm about her shoulder as he turned to face the wizard.

"It's never stopped you before, sir," Potter said, his 'sir' nearly mimicking Granger's from earlier. Why were these Gryffindors always so successful in vexing him?

"I was just comforting Hermione, professor. Given recent.. events, surely you can understand why." He saw the witch nudge the brat, stepping away from him with a pointed look as she covertly swiped under her eyes.

"Two points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Mr. Potter. Now, run along before I ruin Mr. Filch's night by assigning you a detention with him." He turned his back on Potter and opened the door to the classroom. "Miss Granger?" he said, gesturing for her to enter.

She gave Harry a small smile before stepping into the room.

* * *

><p>She stepped into the slightly chilly potions classroom, stopping by the table she usually sat at with the boys. Professor Snape brushed past her on his way to his desk, his cloak lightly flapping back at her as he walked. <em>I wonder if he practices walking like that,<em> she thought, slightly amused. He sat down and pulled out some essays to mark, not saying a word to her. She stood silently by the table, waiting for instructions, but he said nothing as he attacked the essays with his red ink. After a couple of minutes, she sat down at the table, watching his hand glide across the essays; undoubtedly filling them with his vitriol. Fifteen minutes into her detention, she pulled a textbook out of her bag and began one of her reading assignments.

"Do you mistake this classroom for your beloved library, Miss Granger?" he asked, not lifting his head from the essays.

"No, sir," she said, pausing in her reading.

"Then why are you studying?"

"What would you have me do, sir?"

He looked up at her then, his bastard groin twitching as it intentionally misinterpreted her innocuous statement. "Detention is about atonement, Miss Granger. It is not where you engage in what you would normally be doing."

She thought to ask him what he thought she should be atoning for, but figured if she got into that, she may never leave. "You did not tell me to do anything," she responded.

"Then you sit there and do nothing," he replied, his black eyes daring her to talk back. She could not let it pass.

"You would have me sit here idly? For an hour? When I could be using the time productively?"

"You wish to be productive?" he drawled, cocking his head at her with a slightly baiting look.

"That is generally what happens in detention, sir, so yes," she replied, thoroughly exasperated by the man.

"Clean the cauldrons," he said, a slight smirk coloring his face as he looked back down at the essays.

She was annoyed now. _Clean the cauldrons?_ she thought, _has he lost his mind?_ Usually upperclassmen in detention would help brew simple potions to stock the hospital wing or organize the ingredient shelves or storeroom; cleaning cauldrons was for second and third years. However, she would not give him the satisfaction of appearing vexed by this; closing her textbook and putting it away, she took out her wand and moved over to the dirty cauldrons laid out on two tables at the far side of the room.

"Without magic," he said, not looking up.

Saying nothing, she put her wand away, went to the storeroom for the cleaning supplies and got to work on the cauldrons. They remained in this way for a half hour; her scrubbing dried traces of potions from the cauldrons while he marked his essays. Her mind wandered as she worked; the task was not demanding enough to keep her mind from drifting back to that night. She tried thinking of other things; naming potions ingredients, reciting the Ancient Runes alphabet, but she inevitably felt her mind drift. Her eyes unfocused as she scrubbed, remembering her fathers' eyes, the look on his face as she spoke those two awful words, the slightly oily wand gripped tightly in her hand and pointed at her mother. As she always did when she remembered it, she sifted through the memory, trying to see if at any point she might have regained control, trying to see if there had been any crack in the Imperius that she had not seen at the time.

He looked at the witch's profile; he knew she would find the task insulting and had honestly thought she would fight him on it, refuse to do it, but she had just rolled up her sleeves and began scrubbing. Not even putting up a fight when he told her not to use magic. He had watched her working silently; after awhile, he felt her magic waning. It was a nearly imperceptible shift and if anyone had been in the room other than the girl and himself, he doubt he would have noticed. As it was, all he felt was a slight reduction in the magical energy in the room. He took a closer look at her then, she wasn't looking at the cauldron in her hands, instead, her face was fixed on a point in the wall in front of her, and she was shaking her head slightly. He had a momentary flash to that night in Grimmauld Place and felt a sudden wave of sympathy crash over him involuntarily. He felt himself stand up and walk over to the girl. She did not notice his approach, or if she did, made no reaction to it.

"Miss Granger?" he said as he came up beside her.

She wasn't listening; from this distance, he could see that her eyes had glazed over and were not focused. "Miss Granger, answer me." She turned at this; a look of surprise crossing her features at finding him so close. He cocked his head, watching her. She gave her head one last shake and focused her eyes on him.

"Yes, sir?"

"Daydreaming during detention?" he asked sarcastically. She tilted her head to the side, some escaped curls brushing her cheek.

"No, sir."

"What were you thinking about?" He was suddenly, inexplicably, desirous to know what was in her mind.

"Nothing, sir," she said carefully, turning her face back to the cauldron before her. "This task does not require much concentration; I found my mind drifting a bit."

"Yes, so I gathered. Drifting towards what?" he prodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Nothing," she repeated without looking at him.

He wished she would look at him so he could use legilimancy and quit having this ridiculous conversation with the girl.

"Were you thinking of that night?" he finally asked, not caring that he was belying an interest in her. Her back stiffened and her hands stilled.

"Do not talk to me of that night," she said carefully, her voice strained.

"Miss Granger," he began, honestly not knowing where he was going with this. "What I said in class was… harsh." She said nothing, her hands scrubbing absentmindedly at the cauldron. "It was… uncalled for," he continued, almost against his will.

"Are you apologizing?" she asked, still not looking at him.

"It is the closest I will come to it."

She looked up at him then, a half smile quirking her lips.

"Then I suppose I shall have to accept it," she said softly, turning back to the cauldron.

"Was I correct? Had your mind drifted back to that night?" he asked again, not knowing why he cared so.

Perhaps it was a morbid curiosity; she had been through a horrifying tragedy and it fascinated him to know how she was dealing with it. He had seen more horrible things in his time as a Deatheater; had, in fact, _done _horrible things over the years. But this was the first time that the victim was someone he had watched grow over the last six years. Something about it held his interest. She did not reply for awhile, still scrubbing the cauldron, letting him stand there.

"Yes…" she finally said, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper. "Like I said, this task is not demanding… so my mind wandered… I kept thinking about the Imperius, whether I could have…"

"The Imperius is a favorite tool for Deatheaters, second only to the Cruciatus; I assure you, you could not have fought it," he replied.

His tone had taken on a soft quality; a quality she had never heard from him, low and soothing. She felt that same uncomfortable tightening in her stomach and let her shoulders relax a bit. As soon as it happened, though, her Gryffindor reflexes came into effect. Her mind began to systematically process what he was saying, trying to read between the lines, trying to discern what the wizard wanted from her. Why should he be kind to her? Compassionate? Yes, he had taken care of her at Grimmauld Place, but had he gone above and beyond? No, he had simply followed Dumbledore's orders. What was he to have done? Let her die because he found her insufferable? No, the kindness he had shown at headquarters had surely been born of duty and nothing more.

He himself wondered what had gotten into him, why his tone should be so soft, almost kind, to the girl. He had seen her relax her stance a bit at his words, but almost immediately, tense back up. Watching her face as she began re-arranging the cauldrons, he could almost see the wheels in her mind turning as she mulled over his words.

"This is difficult for you." _Why was he still talking?_ he thought to himself. "The grieving process is…" He saw her tense even more and she turned her eyes to him then; the amber ablaze.

"Don't," she snapped; her voice low and fierce. She glanced at her wristwatch. "I have served your detention, Professor Snape," she said in clipped tones. "May I be excused now?"

She looked at him, the impassivity firmly back in her features. He slyly attempted pushing into her mind and found it practically locked. Her eyes narrowed at him; was it possible she knew what he was attempting? Had Potter told her what to expect? He felt his eyes narrow in response.

"…Yes, Miss Granger, you are free to leave."

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><p><strong>AN Up next: More conflicted feelings for Severus, the trio discuss Horcruxes and a crack appears in Snape's self-control...**

**Thoughts?**


	6. Detention with Snape, Part II

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: Detention with Snape, Part II<strong>

The following week found her in the same place at the same time, serving another detention; though this time, Hermione had no qualms admitting that it was entirely her fault. She had baited the Professor mercilessly throughout class; muttering under her breath, whispering to the boys, giving him cheek when he made his usual barbs at her answers. She had raised her hand, rather foolishly, for every question he posed, a hand which he resolutely ignored as was his usual practice. But she could tell that it pleased him to have her show some small measure of normalcy.

She actually wanted to get another detention; despite leaving under rather strained conditions the previous week, when she had returned to her room, she had felt some peace. She had felt some degree of comfort in the potions classroom, a comfort she attributed more to the wonderful silence of the room than to its occupant. It was a place where she could guarantee no one would come to fetch her, rather unlike the library or her room. And so, at the last potions class of that week, she endeavored to earn another detention.

When the professor had not risen to the verbal provocations she had dealt him and with only fifteen minutes left to class, it was time for Hermione to take more extreme measures. She waited for him to move to the back of the room, though to the opposite side of where she and the boys were before she surreptitiously dropped a sprig of peppermint into her cauldron instead of the prescribed rosemary and waited for the reaction. A spectacularly Neville-esque bang ricocheted around the dungeon, causing the students to nearly jump out of their skin. Before she had any idea what had happened, a strong hand gripped her by the arm and the professor pulled her behind him roughly, pushing her away from the smoking cauldron. However, after such an impressive sound; the cauldron, rather pitifully, oozed some potion from its side before going dormant with one last small puff of smoke.

"What was that, Granger?" The irate professor turned on her and bellowed. She flinched, feeling the energy rolling off of him.

"I'm sorry, sir," she responded immediately. "I wasn't paying attention and I must have put in peppermint instead of rosemary."

He looked at her curiously, eyebrows furrowing at her words. She was annoyingly meticulous; the girl never made mistakes, not in all the years he had taught her… unless one counted her second year foray into Polyjuice, which he was not inclined to count since, according to Dumbledore, the potion had worked perfectly for the wonder boy and the dunderhead. Was her grief causing her to be careless? And if so, why now when she had been in class, without mishap, for over two months? And why did her face seem … _hopeful?_ he thought, cocking his head to the side.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your carelessness, Miss Granger, and perhaps detention here after supper will teach you to be more vigilant in the future," he said turning his back on her to return to his desk. He almost thought he heard her emit a small sigh of relief as she began clearing the mess from her workstation.

She had arrived at detention on time, promptly following supper. He assigned her to a task before sitting at his desk to grade papers. He stole glances at her as she organized the ingredients shelves and found himself unconsciously noting her improved state.

Her thick, wild hair was pulled back into a ponytail; the curls looked shiny and healthy and he wondered if she had placed a glamour on them. _Why would she do that to attend a detention?_ he thought to himself, shaking his head as he made an angry scratch on a third year's paper. He lifted his eyes to her from under his long, black hair. A rosier complexion had returned to her cheeks and while she had in no way filled out, she no longer looked like she was one strong breeze from blowing away. He had seen Potter and the Weasleys watching her like a team of hawks at meal time, forcing her to finish her plates. She rarely put up a fight, clearly not desiring to draw attention; only once he had noticed her argue with her friends about her meal. The Potter boy resolutely stood up, made his way to the high table while the girl looked on with rapidly widening eyes, and requested Minerva's help. The Head of House had followed the boy back to the table; whispered in the girl's ear, Granger's cheeks rapidly reddened at this, before returning to the high table. She spoke not a word to her friends for the rest of the meal, but she did clean her plate and the scene was never repeated.

And now here she was, seemingly content as she shelved the baskets of ingredients he had bought the past weekend as part of a detention she appeared to have sought. He shook his head in confusion and resumed his marking.

"Sir?"

"What is it, Granger?"

"Are you certain there are no potions I can help you brew? For the hospital wing… or for your stores?" she asked as she methodically un-twined Valerian root.

"I was going to release you once you had finished the shelving," he said. He caught her shoulders sag a bit at that. _What is she playing at?_

"But I would only have served a half hour, sir. Detention is usually an hour."

"I have been a professor at this school longer than you have been alive, Miss Granger," he spat out. "How many detentions do you think I have had the misfortune of overseeing?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I meant no disrespect," she apologized, looking at the roots in her hand. "I just thought I might be able to help."

"Do you imagine I enjoy spending my evenings in detention?"

"No, sir, of course not. I expect you find it… irksome," she said looking over at him. Her amber eyes held an odd look and he felt a flicker of amusement.

"Irksome?" he put his quill down and leaned back in his chair. "That is one way of putting it. Speak plainly to me, girl; why do you wish to remain here?"

A slightly startled look crossed her features; Hermione had not expected him to be so direct… it was so Gryffindor and caught her completely off guard. Perhaps she should have provoked him into extending her detention rather than attempting to covertly get him to agree to let her stay. Well, it was too late for that now; she may as well be open about it. She pushed the Valerian root into the jars, thinking how to explain it.

"You will think it is ridiculous," she sighed as she stacked the jar next to its twins.

"Most likely, but nevertheless, I demand you tell me," he replied, elbows on his desk as he watched her.

She sighed again. "Gryffindor is holding an impromptu House gathering; most of the Hufflepuffs are coming."

"And?" he said impatiently.

"And if I leave, the boys and Ginny will force me into attending."

"Surely you can hide in the library." _Why was he carrying on such an inane conversation with the girl? What did he care whether she was forced into an uncomfortable social situation? _

"They'll find me and I can't argue with them effectively there," she replied with a scowl as she placed another jar on the shelf.

He sighed; wondering whether he ought to give in to her, wondering what sort of ramifications such a gesture might produce. _Why are you thinking like that?_ the voice in his head supplied. _This is your classroom. You are in complete control. _She was looking at him now, her head tilted in an oddly familiar gesture as she awaited his verdict.

"Complete your task, Miss Granger," he finally said, looking back down at his papers.

Ten minutes later, she had dragged her feet as much as she could, but it was done. She turned to her table to gather her books and looked at the professor as he scratched at the papers. She watched his elegant hand gliding across the parchment, intermittently blowing his hair out of his face. She took a moment to study that hair; it appeared more shiny than greasy, as if it were so soft it merely appeared that way... so black it appeared nearly blue. She shook herself from her thoughts and spoke up.

"I've finished, sir. May I be excused?"

He looked up at her, having noticed when she stopped working and moved over to the table. He suddenly very much wanted her to remain, she was not nearly as tiresome as he had believed her to be… or perhaps as she used to be. _Think of what she went through, _the voice offered, _of course, she's grown up… quite nicely as well, if you think about it._ His groin twitched uncomfortably in agreement. He shook his head slightly, picked up his wand, fingering it for a second before pointing it at a set of two dozen empty vials. He levitated them to her worktable.

"Pepper-up and Antioxidant Potions. A dozen a piece." Her face lit up and something in his gut tightened uncomfortably as she quickly set about retrieving a cauldron and ingredients.

"Quietly, Miss Granger," he added, reaching for a stack of fifth year essays.

* * *

><p>"He thinks you-know-who does what?" Ron asked, eyes wide in disbelief.<p>

Hermione, Harry and Ron were sitting outside the next morning, a Saturday; having opted to enjoy the odd day of Spring sunshine on Hogwarts grounds rather than go to Hogsmeade with the other students. They had brought a blanket and were stretched out in the sun by the lake watching the giant squid intermittently breaking the surface as if it too were seeking the sun's warmth.

"He thinks Voldemort has used a very dark, very old form of magic to split his soul into various pieces," Harry repeated, lying on his back and looking to Hermione on his left for her reaction.

She was rearranging the folds of her knee-length skirt as she settled on the ground. Oddly, she did not seem nearly as shocked as Ron… then again, she had always been marginally better at hiding her emotions than the pair of them.

"Is such a thing even possible?" she asked; leaning back, palms flat on the ground behind her as she tilted her face to the sun. He couldn't say why, but Harry had an acute feeling that she was trying very hard to appear nonchalant.

"Dumbledore says it is," he replied, emerald eyes still fixed on her.

"Why would he even do such a thing?" Ron asked.

"Immortality," Hermione and Harry answered simultaneously. Harry chuckled and Hermione gave him a small smile while Ron crossed his arms across his chest in a sulk.

"Think about it," Harry continued, sitting up and mimicking Hermione's pose as he looked at the redhead. "If Voldemort can successfully split his soul, then theoretically he can never be killed."

"Not theoretically, Harry," Hermione said, a thoroughly worried look crossing her features. "If the headmaster thinks, or knows, it to be possible, then I've no doubt Voldemort could do it…. Ugh, what a dreadful creature," she finished, shaking her head and fiddling with the fabric of her skirt.

"How many times could he split it?" Ron asked, starting to look frightened as the full horror of the notion dawned on him.

"Dumbledore's not sure… or if he is, he hasn't told me," Harry replied, adjusting his glasses.

"What _did_ Professor Dumbledore say?" Hermione asked looking at her friend.

"Just that some memory he saw convinced him that Voldemort knew about the magic and might know the method associated with it."

"But if you-know-who has done it already, then we're good and buggered aren't we?" Ron said, eyes wide like big blue saucers in his face.

"Not necessarily," Hermione said thoughtfully. The boys turned to her. "If there is a way to split the soul, then there must be a way to destroy the various pieces or unite them again in some way, and if that's done, then he can be killed."

Harry nodded with an expression of slight admiration on his face. "That's what Dumbledore said, though he did imply it would be nearly impossible to accomplish as it would entail finding them all before Voldemort manages to kill me."

"You? Does the headmaster think you're the only one who can find them?" Hermione asked, worry dancing in her amber eyes.

"He thinks, because of our connection, that I would have more luck than anyone else."

"That makes sense," she agreed reluctantly.

"How would we destroy them if you found them?" Ron asked.

"Dunno. He wouldn't say."

"Maybe there's a book that would explain it," Ron supplied, looking at Hermione.

"If there is, it's not in the library," the witch responded, her face tilted back towards the sky.

"How do you know?" Harry asked, cocking his head at his friend. She looked at him, a little apprehensively; he thought, and narrowed his eyes in concern.

She looked down, fussing with the material of her skirt, and then she sighed and looked up at them through the curls falling loose and untamed around her face. "I was curious," she finally said, "after what happened… with my parents. I wondered what the result of it might be… how it might have affected.. my soul," she finished, dipping her head again. "I went looking in the library. I did a scan for any books referencing soul or soul magic. There was nothing about Horcruxes."

Harry jerked his head sharply in her direction. "I never told you what they were called."

She looked up at him, biting her lower lip. "It was referenced in one of the books; just in passing, just saying that it was very dark, unspeakable magic."

"Hmm," Harry seemed unconvinced, "maybe you can pull the book for me so I can see the reference for myself." The witch looked at him with an expression of hurt.

"Honestly, mate," Ron piped up. "If there were any more to it, I'm sure Hermione would be lecturing us about it right now."

"I'll show it to you," she said, turning her face away from the boys, hiding behind her hair.

An awkward silence descended on the group, one none of them could remember ever experiencing with one another. Harry suddenly felt incredibly foolish and guilty. He scooted over and pulled the reluctant girl into his arms, hoping she wouldn't push him away. She remained tense for a moment before allowing herself to relax in his embrace; she adjusted her position and wrapped her arms around her friend, silently telling him she accepted his apology. She met Ron's eyes over Harry's shoulder and he gave her a lop-sided grin.

The potions master stood in the corridor at one of the windows in the castle, overlooking the lake, watching the interplay between the trio with a head cocked in reluctant interest. He was caught in a pot of inexplicable and undesired emotions. He'd been pleased that the Granger girl had ventured outside; thinking the sun and air would do her good. Pleasure turned to annoyance when Potter lay down beside her, their sides almost touching. Annoyance turned to discomfited arousal as the girl's skirt rode up her thigh a bit while she shifted on the ground; followed by a more insistent stirring when she turned her face up to the sky, her long, elegant neck stretching, her chest - covered in a snug v-neck - rising and falling as she inhaled the air.

He felt a stab of fury as the voice in his head, which had such varied opinions these days, barked at him, _What sort of man are you? Standing at a window, ogling a teenage girl like some perverse Lech! What would Dumbledore think? What would the girl think? _He was shaking his head, turning to go when he noticed the trio become more serious somehow, as though they were discussing some important topic. He remained where he was, watching the boys turn to Granger; noting how she seemed to grow uncomfortable, fingering her skirt. His arousal gave way to curiosity as he saw her turn her face away, hiding behind that unmanageable mane, wondering what they were discussing.

His cock stirred again; curiosity ceding to arousal as he contemplated the hair which he never saw loose these days. Unbidden images of his hands in those curls, forcing her head back to expose that creamy neck invaded his mind and he staggered back from the windowsill, feeling something akin to genuine fear roil through him. What was he doing? Was he losing his mind? How could he desire her? he thought manically as he ran his fingers through his hair. _A student? _In twenty years of teaching, he had never, _never,_ had improper thoughts about a student. Albus would kill him if he knew; Minerva would most likely castrate him, the Order would flay him where he stood. And the girl… the girl would surely be disgusted beyond belief.

_Why do you care what she thinks? _the voice mocked as he stalked down the hall towards his chambers; an acute, and disgustingly familiar, self-loathing settling in his gut.

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><p><strong>AN More tomorrow as Severus and Hermione have a confrontation of sorts...**

**I hope the pacing is ok; like I said, this is a fairly long fic so I'm taking my time setting the scene and building up to everything. **

**I always love to hear your thoughts :)**


	7. Unexpected

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: Unexpected <strong>

_A few days later_

"Severus?" The headmaster's voice broke through the potion idea he had been formulating as he ate.

He turned his head to the old wizard seated beside him at the high table.

"I regretfully forgot to inform you of this at the staff meeting earlier, but Miss Granger will be assisting you two evenings a week in brewing the hospital's stores, beginning tomorrow evening if that is acceptable."

Snape had difficulty digesting this piece of information; so many questions and inflammatory remarks whirled about his head that he did not know how to respond. He sat there, gaping at the headmaster; quite speechless for someone who was never at a loss for words.

"I require no assistance, headmaster," he finally said in low warning tones. "Has my performance been lacking? Has Poppy complained of my efficiency? Or the quality or quantity of the potions?"

"No, no, my dear boy," the headmaster said kindly, placing his hand over the professor's. "You know that is not possible, you have gone above and beyond a potions master's duty for this school. You always have."

"Then why the insult of forcing a _seventh year_ on me?" he bit out, removing his hand from under the headmaster's and viciously spearing a piece of fish with the fork that was grasped in the other.

"Miss Granger approached me a few days ago." Severus' eyes went to the headmaster's face, carefully schooling his expression to one of finely tuned boredom.

"She said she feels content, at peace, when she is brewing. Something about how 'gloriously quiet' the classroom is. Said she had actually baited you into giving her a detention so that she might have that peace and that she would continue seeking it, but she did not particularly care for the idea of more detentions on her record." The potions master let out a snort at that. "She said brewing potions is the first real comfort she has felt since returning to school. I am inclined to indulge her is such a small request and had hoped you would share my feelings."

Snape grunted at his plate. "What if I should be summoned?"

"Surely Miss Granger does not require constant oversight. I am sure she could work in the lab alone so long as you left her with proper instructions."

"My personal laboratory?" Snape asked incredulously and a little too loudly.

The students at the head of the tables turned to look at them, he saw the girl's face turn to them before ducking to her plate. A wave of glaring from the potions master had them all returning to their suppers.

"That is where you brew the hospital's potions, is it not?"

"It is also adjacent to my personal chambers, headmaster, surely you see how inappropriate it would be," he replied more quietly.

"Hmm," the headmaster mused, stroking his long white beard. "That had not even occurred to me… Perhaps you could begin brewing in the classroom."

"I will not be so inconvenienced, Albus," he said, though he could feel his objection waning.

"Oh, honestly, Severus, it is such a small concession for the sake of Miss Granger's comfort." The headmaster's light blue eyes drifted towards his beloved Gryffindors. "I do believe she will prove to be important to the war effort."

_Well-played, old man,_ he thought with a sigh of defeat. They both knew that Severus would never refuse the headmaster anything he believed to be of importance in winning this blasted war.

"Very well. It will be as you wish it, Albus."

"Excellent. Be sure to inform her after supper, Severus. As I said, I had indicated that she might begin tomorrow."

Hermione did not look up to the high table again throughout supper; she could tell the headmaster had been telling Professor Snape about her request and could not understand why he would do so at supper. Surely he knew the professor well enough to know he would not appreciate being shanghaied in such a manner. She wondered again whether she should have made her request to the potions master directly rather than going to the headmaster. She had thought that by approaching it in this manner, it would be more official, more appropriate, less suspect. _What would anyone suspect you of doing?_ she asked herself. _You are seeking the comfort, peace and quiet of the classroom. It also conveniently offers you the opportunity to better your potion making skills, _she told herself while trying to shake off that uncomfortable feeling in her gut she'd been struggling to ignore.

Supper finished soon thereafter and she left the hall, flanked by the boys as they headed towards the tower.

"Miss Granger," the dark, slightly tense voice intoned from behind her. She and the boys turned around as one to face Professor Snape. His black eyes locked on her as she waited for him to speak, the boys standing silently at her side.

"I said Miss Granger, not The Golden Trio. Move along Potter, Weasley," he sneered at them.

She nodded towards the boys and he saw them move away to the other end of the corridor. It was with no small measure of annoyance that he saw them stand there, out of earshot, but clearly insisting on waiting for her.

"It seems you have abused my generosity, Miss Granger," he finally said, lazily returning his eyes to her face. She looked up at him, brow furrowed in confusion.

"How so, sir?"

"I allow you to assist in my brewing once and you presume to make such a request."

"No, sir, I just -"

"And you do not even have the decency to ask me as I am the one you will be so thoroughly inconveniencing," he interrupted in a sharp hiss. "No, instead, you selfishly go over my head to the headmaster whom, it seems, would refuse you nothing."

She remained quiet, head down in a clear gesture of shame.

"Well? What have you to say for yourself, girl?" he growled at her. "You were particularly loquacious with the headmaster, going on about 'peace and comfort', 'glorious silence' and all that. Go on; defend yourself and your absurd decision." Her head stayed down. "Look at me and speak, you silly girl," he ground out.

She looked up at him, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth and he suddenly had the urge to pin her to a wall with his body. She blinked her eyes rapidly, released her lip and spoke.

"I apologize, sir. I.." Her eyes turned up to his in earnest. "I hope you can believe me when I say it was not my intention to abuse your generosity or infringe upon you at all." He snorted at that, tearing his eyes from hers. "I admit that my request was selfish, I told the headmaster as much and I am sorry I went to him instead of you. I… I was certain you would refuse me."

He turned his obsidian eyes back to her, a war of uncomfortable emotions battling within him. "Of course, I would have, Miss Granger. I have no use for an impertinent, insufferable chit nor do I have any need for assistance in a job I have been doing for two decades."

"I know that, sir, but when I helped the other evening, you allowed it. You said the potions I produced were acceptable. If you truly have no desire for assistance, why did you allow it?"

"Because I pitied you," he snapped. She stopped short at this, eyes narrowing; her mouth setting into a straight, stern line. "You were such a pitiful sight," he said almost menacingly as he took a step towards her, "practically begging me to allow you to hide out in the classroom. I took pity on you, Miss Granger. If only I had known what the consequences of such a thing would be."

She said nothing; but he could feel the anger rolling off of her, the indignation, the offense she took at his words. They stood glaring at one another; black eyes on amber, a furious tension stretched between them. She was breathing heavily; he could tell she was warring with herself on how to respond. Finally, she took another deep breath and squared her shoulders.

"Forgive me," she said and he pulled back in surprise. He had been so sure she was going to talk back to him. "I see now how completely and utterly wrong it was for me to not consult you first." She spoke in slow measured tones, her face betraying nothing, the anger he had seen in her eyes completely gone. "I shall rectify it immediately, Professor," she finished, brushing past him and walking in the direction of the tower.

She passed her friends without slowing and with a pair of identically angry looks to the potions master; they followed her down the hall. He was well and truly fucked now; he had meant to shame the girl, take his frustration out on her, but the headmaster would not be pleased by this.

He briefly considered going after her before mentally slapping himself at the thought of him chasing a wayward Gryffindor through the halls of Hogwarts, the very idea bringing back thoroughly unwelcome memories. No, he would correct this in the morning; surely she would not speak with the headmaster tonight. _She said she would rectify it immediately_, the voice supplied as he made his way through the halls in the opposite direction. He paused momentarily but did not turn around. _No_, he thought as he resumed walking, _I will speak with her in the morning. I shall just have to risk it._

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><p>It was with some trepidation that Severus entered the Great Hall the next morning; he watched the headmaster sit for breakfast, steeling himself for the moment when the wizard would begin admonishing him. When it did not occur, he wondered if perhaps Albus would request a meeting after breakfast to admonish him in private. He glanced at the Gryffindor table; saw the girl quietly eating her meal, prodded as usual by the dunderheads. She did not look to the high table. When breakfast had passed with nothing more than polite conversation from the headmaster, Severus realized the girl had not spoken to him yet. Just as the thought entered his mind, he noticed movement from the Gryffindor table. He looked up and saw the girl making her way to the high table and felt that unease, which was becoming so very familiar, sweep his gut. Surely she would not do it in front of him? Surely she was smarter than that? She did not look to him as she made her way up the steps to the front of their table opposite the headmaster.<p>

"Good morning, professors," she said to the table in general; the teachers nodded to her, smiling. "Professor Dumbledore?" she said facing the old wizard. "I was wondering if I might have a private word before class begins."

"Of course, Miss Granger," he replied, putting his goblet of pumpkin juice on the table. "Would you like to accompany me to my office now?"

"If it's not an inconvenience," she said, stressing the last word quite deliberately and Severus felt himself lean towards the headmaster and into her line of sight.

"Miss Granger?" he said, noting how her impassive eyes flicked over to him. "Perhaps your meeting with the headmaster might wait? I wished to discuss tonight's brewing schedule so that you might brush up on any theory should you wish to." Her eyes took on a thoroughly distrustful look as he spoke. "I have a busy day, Miss Granger. Surely whatever you feel the need to discuss with Headmaster Dumbledore can wait."

"That's fairly presumptuous of you, Severus," Dumbledore said, turning to him with a calculating look. Snape merely turned his eyes back to the girl; she seemed to be in the middle of her own calculations. To what end, however, he could not tell.

"Of course," she said with a small nod, turning back to the headmaster. "It can wait, Professor Dumbledore. I would not wish to disappoint Professor Snape on the first day."

"Are you certain, my child?" the headmaster said, taking a closer look at the girl. "As for this evening, I am certain you will excel at it, Miss Granger, as you do with so many things."

"You are too generous, Headmaster," the witch said, stepping backwards down the steps. "Yes, it can wait, I'm certain. Forgive me for interrupting the end of your meal," she finished with a small incline of her own head.

"Such poise," Severus heard Minerva say; somewhat smugly, he thought.

Reaching the floor, she turned on her heel and made her way back to the table. The boys were still eating, but she barely paused at their bench; fetching her bag and making a small comment to the boys before swiftly leaving the hall.

Severus stood, muttering about dunderheaded Gryffindors and hadn't he just said he needed to speak with her? He left the hall through the teacher's side entrance. Making his way rapidly through to the stairs, he was fairly certain the Gryffindors had DADA first thing that morning so he aimed to intercept the girl on her way to the third floor corridor. He took the normal and most efficient route but did not see her. He had no recourse but to wait in the corridor around the corner from the DADA class. _A professor waiting for a student?_ the voice in his head mocked. _There would be no need to wait had I not been so caustic last night, _he thought, wondering when he had gone so soft.

He made a turn in his pacing and saw her walking towards him; her posture was straight, head held high as she made her way to him. He felt his traitorous eyes travel down her body as she walked, tilting his head as he noted the slight sway of her hips; his eyes narrowed, wondering when she had picked that up or whether he had just not noticed before.

_Why is he looking at my body?_ Hermione thought as she walked towards him. She had been surprised to find him waiting in the corridor; having planned to venture into the dungeon between classes to ask him about what he'd said at breakfast. Now he was waiting for her in the hallway? Clearly appraising her body as she walked? What was he doing? What was he thinking? And more importantly, why was she not repulsed by the thought of her professor, _her potions professor_, ogling her? Why was she wondering whether the tilt of his head was approval at what he saw? His frighteningly deep black eyes snapped back up to her face as she stopped before him.

The witch stood quietly, saying nothing. What had happened to the incessantly nattering Gryffindor that had been pestering him for the last seven years? She was so quiet now, so very cautious; seeming to calculate each word before she spoke it, her steps as she walked through the school deliberate and thought out, preferring to listen rather than react. He often thought she had been mis-sorted, but this Slytherin-ness had never crossed his mind.

"Miss Granger," he finally said when it became clear she would not address him first. "I spoke quite rashly last night. I was … displeased by how it unfolded and I spoke … rashly."

She tilted her head to the side as she listened to him. "Is this another pseudo-apology?" she inquired. He looked around them, grateful that no one was in the hall to witness this insolence he was allowing.

"My words offended you?" he asked, rather stupidly.

"Your pity offends me," she hissed in response.

He rocked back on his heels, looking at her intensely. _Pity? _She was offended by the emotion rather than the harsh words he had spoken? He was beginning to think he may need to drastically re-evaluate this witch. He had long since had her and her friends pegged for the pure Gryffindors they were, but now it seemed that this amber-eyed witch was breaking rank. _Pity?_ he thought again, his mind flashing back to the countless times he'd snapped at and insulted Minerva or Albus or Poppy for showing the same nauseating emotion.

"I…" He quickly scanned the hallway again. "I apologize for offending you, Miss Granger. I will not insult you further by offering excuses for it."

Her eyes narrowed at his apology, clearly attempting to discern his endgame. He felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny; a feeling which only Albus could produce in him. What was this witch doing to him? What if she pressed the issue? How would he explain away his behavior? He knew she had caught him blatantly studying her body as she had walked towards him. What would she have him do? Explain, in the middle of a corridor which would soon be filling with students, that he desired her? That she was beginning to invade his dreams? That he could barely look at her nowadays without becoming aroused?

"Hermione?"

Remus _fucking _Lupin… _Perfect timing_, Severus thought, not taking his eyes from the girl. She broke her gaze from his, and he felt a stab of annoyance as she turned to look at the werewolf walking down the hall. He felt a further twist as she smiled broadly at the wizard; he could not remember when she had last smiled that broadly.

"Hermione?" Lupin repeated as he drew up to her side, eyes flicking to Snape and back to the girl. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you, Remus," she replied.

"Severus," he greeted the other wizard with a slight nod.

"Lupin," he ground out. "On a first name basis, I see," he sneered at the pair of them. "Highly inappropriate, don't you think?" The girl's eyebrow cocked at this.

"I only allow it when no students are around," Lupin replied, smiling affectionately at the girl.

"Professor Snape is right," she said, her eyes still on the wolf. "It is inappropriate; in front of students as well as other professors."

"Just when it's you and me then, eh?" Lupin replied good-naturedly, giving her a light tap on the shoulder.

Severus' hand twitched, wanting to hex the wolf where he stood. How dare he take such liberties? _Who are you to be offended by it? _the voice in his head countered. He turned his eyes back to the girl, unwilling to back out of the situation himself. Lupin looked between the girl and the potions master, wondering what exactly he had interrupted.

"Perhaps you'd like to wait inside with me until class begins," Lupin offered gently.

"Yes, thank you," she said. Lupin turned towards the classroom door, expecting her to follow. "Will you need assistance brewing this evening, Professor Snape?" she ventured the question, giving him room to back out if that was not what he had intended by this display.

He looked into her eyes, those proud amber eyes, and wondered how far he would allow himself to slide in this. He considered saying no. He considered marching up to Dumbledore's office and refusing this request. He considered saying not tonight; just to buy himself a little time. He considered all of these utterly cowardly things.

"Yes, Miss Granger. Eight o'clock in the classroom. Do not be late."

Without another glance, Professor Snape walked away, leaving the witch and the wolf standing in the middle of a rapidly filling corridor.

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><p><strong>AN Coming up: What happens when Hermione and Severus get to brewing? How long can our professor hold out?**


	8. Brewing

**A/N I am, as always, humbled and appreciative of your kind reviews :)**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 8: Brewing <strong>

The first two brewing sessions were thoroughly uneventful. Slightly strained and exceedingly awkward; both Hermione and the professor were abnormally polite and unfailingly courteous to one another. She said little, so as not to incite his annoyance and he said even less, so as not to provoke a response, from himself or the witch.

The witch who was rapidly invading his every waking thought.

He desired her badly; his cock in an almost painful state of arousal as he stood at his table watching her brew. The way she pulled her heavy curls off her neck as she bent over the cauldron; the way her breasts moved when she relented and pulled her hair into a ponytail; the way the steam from her cauldron whispered over her face, wrapping around her neck. Oh yes, he desired the witch and was beginning to think he would find no relief unless he addressed the matter. _Congratulations, Severus,_ the voice sneered. _You are now actively considering molesting a student. Well done._ He was getting better at ignoring that voice, but still he allowed her to work in peace.

"Professor?" she interrupted his thoughts as she stirred her cauldron, frowning down at a text he had laid out for her.

"What is it, Miss Granger?" he replied, eyes returning to his own cauldron.

"I was wondering," she said carefully, "wouldn't beetle wings be a better option for the Calming Draught than scarab legs?"

He looked up at her, eyebrows drawing together. "Why would you think that?" he inquired, stirring as he watched her.

"Well," she began, releasing her lower lip from its seemingly permanent residence between her teeth. "Beetle wings are drier than scarab legs, but retain many of the same characteristics. They would make the potion less… mucus-y, which would make it easier to swallow; especially for someone in a state of high emotional distress who might not be able to keep anything thicker down."

His bastard groin was twitching excitedly as each word tumbled from her lips; he refused to look at her as he tried to tamp down his reaction. "Why don't you try?" he replied casually.

"What?" she asked; watching him as he stirred his cauldron, his hair falling in a black curtain around his face. She couldn't tell whether he was serious or not.

"Attempt it. See what happens," he replied, moving to slice the Gurdyroot he had laid out.

Hermione looked at him, wondering if he was serious. She watched his hands working the ingredients; those long, elegant fingers making precise, controlled swipes at the root. She wondered if his hands were roughened and calloused from his work, whether his grip was rough like his demeanor or paradoxically tender. She wondered which she would prefer. Shaking herself from those maddening thoughts; she pushed the scarab legs aside and went to the ingredients shelf for the beetle wings.

Returning to her station, she glanced at the text as she opened the jar and withdrew the equivalent amount of wings. Severus placed a silent stasis charm on his cauldron and moved towards the witch's table. Placing the beetle wings in a cup, she began grinding them to a fine powder, unaware of her professor.

A few minutes later, Hermione put the grinder down as she blew an errant curl from her face; finally noticing him standing at her side, she gave a little start. He tilted his head at her and then to the cauldron, silently indicating for her to continue. She sifted the powder in the cup, sucking her lower lip between her teeth. He clenched his fists at his side and she tipped the powder into the cauldron. They stood there waiting for a reaction; she chewing on her lower lip as she watched the surface of the potion, he flexing his fingers as he watched her worry that lip.

The cauldron began bubbling and she went to back away from it, fearing an explosion but he had stepped behind her and she stopped when her back came in contact with his chest. She went to step aside, but his hands clamped down on her upper arms, holding her in place. She felt her stomach drop and butterflies invade as she stood still.

"Watch," he said his low voice much too close to her ear for someone of his height.

She watched the cauldron as it continued to bubble, but not boil over. "Beetle wings contain a high amount of acid," he explained, his baritone reverberating through her. She could feel it emanating from his chest. "That acid reacts negatively with the lavender." She felt his warm breath against her ear, ruffling the curls around her face. "That negative reaction causes the potion to burn and renders it useless," he finished smoothly, his hands not moving, keeping her against him.

"I'm sorry I ruined it," she whispered, wanting to turn and face him, but not wishing to break the contact. Her nerves were on fire, every fiber of her being straining towards the wizard behind her and it hit her like a punch in the gut. She wanted her potions master. _Desired him_. And unless she was horribly dense, it would seem he reciprocated the feeling.

"Don't be," he murmured, his lips ghosting over her earlobe as his hands drifted, seemingly of their own accord, ever-so-slowly down her arms to her elbows. "All potions breakthroughs are born of trial and error." He noted, with surprise, when her head tilted to the side, affording him better access and laying her smooth neck out for his attention.

He dipped his head, the tip of his large nose skimming the soft skin there, inhaling her scent of jasmine. He had wondered for weeks what the girl smelled like and felt his cock strain towards her as he saw her shiver slightly under his touch. He exhaled jerkily and she jerked further into him in response. Suddenly, he stepped away from her and turned her to him, releasing her arms.

He looked at her face, into her eyes, not caring that his desire was surely spelled quite clearly across his features. She stood there looking at him, her eyes drifting to his lips before returning to his eyes. _Did she desire him as well? _he thought as he watched her, a growing sense of panic filling his gut. She couldn't. It was impossible. He was actually going mad, he thought, turning away from the girl and moving back to his workstation.

She had watched the subtle changes on his face, the focusing of his eyes as he tried to dispel the arousal hazing them. She didn't know what she wanted from him; did she want him to kiss her? To touch her again? Hold her? She wasn't sure. She looked down as he made his way back to his bench, maybe it was in her head. But no, she could too easily remember the feel of his nose as it skimmed her neck; could easily remember her desire for him to replace it with his lips.

"We are finished for the evening, Miss Granger. You are dismissed," his voice cut across her suddenly, no longer soft, no longer silky.

"But, sir…" She hesitated. "The potion." She gestured to her table.

"I will complete it later. You are dismissed," he repeated, head over his cauldron.

"Sir."

"Leave," he hissed.

Hermione flinched at the tone. She watched him stir for a moment before she picked up her wand, Evanescoed the contents of her cauldron, magically cleaned it and sent the remaining ingredients levitating back to their places. She did not look at him as she put her robe back on, picked up her bag and made her way to the classroom door. She almost heard him sigh in relief as her hand touched the knob. She could not leave it like this. He had to understand.

"Professor Snape," she said turning back to face him, her hand still on the door knob.

He stilled in his stirring, blinked a few times and looked up at her… or more accurately, somewhere just over her right shoulder. "That look you gave me when you turned me around? I've seen that look before. I know what it means." Before he could reply, she twisted the doorknob and removed herself from his classroom.

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><p>The next morning, Hermione sat quietly between her friends at breakfast; lost in her thoughts, trying to discern what exactly had transpired between her and the professor the previous evening. Had she misread the signs and thus made an enormous fool of herself with her closing statement? She did not think she had misunderstood the looks he'd given her, his voice in her ear, his hands on her arms. She felt a somewhat alien heat pooling low in her abdomen at the thought. She was fairly certain she would not have stopped him if he'd tried to kiss her. She knew it was against school rules, but found herself unable to care very much. <em>Is that why he forced me to leave?<em> she suddenly thought, because the rule _does _matter to him? She stole a glance at the dark wizard; Professor Snape did not seem the type to particularly abide by rules and regulations, but she would not presume to know much of anything about the wizard.

He was trying so very hard not to glance at the Gryffindor table; he refused to risk the chance of making eye contact with the maddening witch.

Severus had been wallowing in no small amount of shame and self-disgust since the previous evening. If his inexcusable actions in the classroom had not been enough, when the witch left, he'd been forced to his office bathroom to obtain some measure of relief for his aching erection; at which point, her eyes, her face, her scent, the memory of the heat of her body against his whirled about his consciousness as he pleasured himself in rough strokes. After some minutes, he came in long, hot shuddering bursts. Groaning and pounding his fist into the bathroom wall, rapidly filling with a burning sense of shame. He'd been so successful at keeping her out of his masturbatory thoughts, but could now feel all his walls of resistance tumbling down around him. As he flushed away the evidence of his shame, Severus seriously considered going to Dumbledore to confess. At least then, the witch would be forced out of his presence. At least then, Dumbledore would be more vigilant and he would not be afforded the opportunity he'd had that night. Would she have allowed him to kiss her? he'd wondered as he splashed cold water on his face, his cock already twitching again at the idea of tasting those lips. Would she have kissed him back? How far would she have let him go?

Albus suddenly stood up to Severus' left, pulling the wizard out of his thoughts. The hall went quiet as the students' eyes turned to their headmaster.

"Now that we have all had our tea and toast, I would like to make an announcement before you all head off to your classes. We are welcoming a new apprentice for the remainder of term, Mr. Samuel Eliot." He gestured to a brown-haired wizard seated at his far left, past the staff members. The wizard stood up, smiled and inclined his head towards the headmaster.

"Mr. Eliot is a graduate of the Salem Institute for Witchcraft and Wizardry in Massachusetts over in America. He has been conducting his Defense against the Dark Arts apprenticeship at Durmstrang for the last year. Unfortunately, Professor Kanitsov has taken ill and we have been asked to take the young man in. As such, Mr. Eliot will be completing the remainder of his apprenticeship under Professor Lupin." He gestured to the werewolf who nodded with a smile. "I trust you will all make him feel welcome at Hogwarts."

The headmaster turned to Minerva with a small smile and the witch stood up and moved to the side of the hall.

"Now, Mr. Eliot?" Dumbledore said, turning to face the young wizard. "As you know, Hogwarts has a unique tradition of sorting students to see which House they belong to." The newcomer nodded his head with a smile and look of amused confusion on his face. "Now, we all know you are not a student, however, Minerva and I were wondering if you would indulge us in our beloved tradition by submitting to the hat for sorting. You are, of course, free to reside in your apprentice room in Gryffindor Tower or you might move to an apprentice room in the House the hat sorts you in, should the head of House be amiable. Will you sit for a sorting, Mr. Eliot?" he finished, with a slight twinkle in his eyes gesturing at the stool he had conjured in the place where his podium usually sat.

The House tables began applauding and chanting for the wizard to sit for a sorting. It was a singular experience indeed; to submit for a sorting at such an age and all the students were curious as to where he would be placed. Professor Snape noted, with approval, the coolness with which his House greeted this idea; his eyes slid to the Gryffindor table on their way back to the headmaster and he noticed the Granger girl holding her teacup in mid-air, watching the proceedings with a look of slight amusement.

The newcomer stood and approached the sorting stool. Leaning in and smiling at a quick word Minerva told him, he sat straight-backed on the stool with a grin. Minerva smiled broadly as she placed the Sorting Hat on his head; the hat woke as it touched him, shifting itself over the wizard and grumbling about being misused.

"Oh, do indulge us, Hat," the headmaster said as Minerva held up crossed fingers.

The Hat continued shifting this way and that, murmuring under its breath as the wizard sat beneath it quietly. The Hall was quiet for several minutes and Hermione glanced at her wristwatch, wondering if perhaps the Hat would refuse to sort a grown wizard. Dumbledore must have thought the same as he shared a slightly dejected look with Minerva. The newcomer shrugged good-naturedly as the witch made to remove the Hat from his head.

"Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat suddenly cried out. Minerva frowned deeply while Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in amusement.

The young wizard gave a clap of his hands, though whether in relief that the Hat had finally decided or in delight at _what_ it had decided on, no one could tell. He looked out at the student tables, eyebrows drawing together as he noticed that none of the tables were applauding while one table was groaning in disappointment. He had heard, from his time at Durmstrang, that Slytherin was a respected and well-bred House, despite their somewhat fanatic pureblood ideology, and wondered whether he ought to be offended by the non-reaction.

Professor Snape curled his lips in disgust at the Sorting Hat's verdict, hoping fervently that Dumbledore would not insist on him housing the boy. He did not feel like playing host to a protégé of Lupin's. A flash of unaccountable annoyance ripped through him as he saw Granger give a slight laugh into her teacup at the Hat's announcement, glancing at the girls of her table who were mourning the apparent loss.

"Well, that's interesting," Dumbledore finally said as Minerva removed the Hat, seeming to grumble at it. "I am sure you would be an asset to any House, Mr. Eliot." The young wizard stood and gave a small bow to the headmaster. "Now, I wonder if Professor Snape would oblige you in staying in the dungeons."

Snape opened his mouth, not quite knowing what he would say, when the wizard spoke instead. "Oh, that will not be necessary, Headmaster Dumbledore. I am quite comfortable in Gryffindor tower and would not desire to infringe upon Professor Snape's House in such a way," he said, inclining his head respectfully towards the potions master. Professor Snape returned the nod, saying nothing.

"Very well," Dumbledore said. He turned to the hall of students. "Off you go to your classes then, children. Pip pip!"

Hermione and her friends began gathering their things to leave.

"Yes!" Lavender said, giggling with Parvati. "That gorgeous wizard stays with us."

"I know!" Parvati replied. "Can you imagine what three months in the dungeons would do to those looks?"

"The hair! Those eyes! Did you see how blue they were? You could see it all the way from our table," she practically squealed, gripping the dark-haired girl's arm.

"I didn't notice his eyes," Parvati replied. "I was too busy looking at those shoulders. So broad, so tall," she sighed.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry as they followed the witches out of the hall.

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><p><strong>AN A bit cliche' I know, but I think our professor might need a push in the right direction ;)**

**Up next: Someone cracks and more Horcrux talk.**


	9. The Kiss

**_Warnings: I'm going to start earning the rating on this story :p_  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 (Also, see Ch. 4's disclaimer regarding my use of 6th year potions despite them being in their 7th year in my story)<br>**

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><p><strong>Chapter 9: The Kiss<strong>

Hermione sought refuge in the library immediately after classes that day; not even venturing to the hall for supper, she remained ensconced in that haven of hers until Madam Pince began her routine huffing signaling her wish to retire for the evening. Hermione spent the time going over readings and assignments; she'd already read through the majority of her textbooks and had taken to giving herself practice essays and assignments to pass the time. That day, however, she found her thoughts drifting towards a certain dark wizard. More than once, she contemplated marching down to the dungeons and demanding an answer for his behavior the previous evening, but she remained where she was. Potions the next day was going to be awkward enough as it was.

When she could tolerate no more of Madam Pince's sighs; Hermione packed up her things and made her way back to her room, deliberately bypassing the common room. She had taken down her wards and opened the door when she heard a deep voice call out 'Hello' behind her. She turned and saw Samuel Eliot walking down the hallway towards her with a smile, brown-hair flopping slightly over his forehead.

"Hello," she replied, smiling back as the wizard came to a stop before her.

"I'm Sam Eliot," he said, holding his hand out.

"Hermione Granger."

"Hermione? That's an interesting name," he said, warmly shaking her hand.

"Interesting is a polite way of putting it. My parents were Shakespeare fans." She flinched internally at her use of the past tense.

"Shakespeare? The muggle?" She nodded. "Well, it's an interesting _and_ pretty name," he said with a slight incline of his head.

"Thank you," she replied, shifting her books and folding them in front of her. "Welcome to Hogwarts. I trust you've been finding everything well."

"Yes, I have, thanks. Everything's been great," he said with a broad smile. He gestured to the open door behind her. "Who are you apprenticing with?"

"Oh, I'm not an apprentice. I'm a seventh year."

"A student?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," he said with a shake of his head. "I didn't realize… aren't students supposed to be in the main tower?"

"They are, yes, but .. extenuating circumstances have allowed me my own room," she replied, hoping he would not press the issue. She did not want to get into that discussion nor did she want to lie to the man.

"I see," he said, shaking his head as though this must be yet another peculiarity of Hogwarts, much like that sorting hat. "I didn't see you in the common room. The House held a little welcoming thing for me."

"Oh, I'm sorry I missed it. I was in the library."

"Ahh, I see." He smiled. "Bit of a bookworm?"

"You could say that," she replied with a small laugh. "How are things with Professor Lupin?"

"Oh, wonderful. It's very good of him to accept me on such short notice."

She nodded. "Professor Lupin is a great teacher. The best DADA professor we've had."

"You've had many?" He cocked his head; Professors at Salem usually worked on tenure and lasted for generations.

"There's a bit of a curse on the position I'm afraid," she said, leaning forward conspiratorially.

"Is that so?" he replied, smile widening, blue eyes twinkling in amusement.

"Oh, yes. No one has survived the position for more than a year, so in my seven years here, I have had six separate DADA professors," she finished with a shrug.

"Six? Not seven?"

"Well, Professor Lupin taught it three years ago and then we had three others before he was re-instated this year."

"I see." The wizard nodded. "So, he broke the curse then?"

"If he comes back next year, I daresay he would have."

"Hogwarts is clearly an very interesting institution. I've heard my fair share of stories. Dumbledore is legendary, of course, but also, the boy-who-lived, Voldemort attacks and the like."

"Yes, well." She looked down at her books. "You mustn't believe everything you hear."

"Of course," he said, cocking his head, wondering if he'd said something wrong. She looked up and gave him a small smile.

"It was wonderful meeting you. Do let me know if there's anything I can help you with?"

"I will, thank you. It was great meeting you, Miss Granger." He inclined his head.

"Please, call me Hermione. Surely they told you students aren't formal with apprentices here."

"Yes, yes, they did," he said with a smile. "In which case, you must call me Sam."

She smiled again. "Good night, Sam."

"Good night, Hermione."

* * *

><p>The next morning, she joined the boys for breakfast in the Great Hall; nodding her head and promising not to skip any more meals after they thoroughly admonished her for skipping supper the previous night.<p>

"You should have come to the common room, Hermione," Ginny said. "We had a lovely gathering for the new guy."

"Hmm," Hermione replied noncommittally as she poured her tea.

"Are you talking about Sam?" Lavender cut in. "Oh my gosh, isn't he wonderful? So funny and so gorgeous!"

Hermione suddenly had the urge to vomit as the girls continued squealing about his various attributes, replaying comments and conversations from the previous night. Hermione fervently wished she had not come down so early; the food was at least five more minutes away.

"Oh, shh shh, he's coming. Shh!" Parvati suddenly hissed as all the girls snapped back to their seats.

Severus Snape watched the newcomer stroll confidently into the Hall, greeting members of the Gryffindor table that had seemingly so eagerly welcomed him to their fold. _Bloody, welcoming Gryffindors; not a shred of sense between the lot of them_, he thought with a snort into his teacup. His hand suddenly froze midway to his mouth as he saw the wizard stop by the trio, taking a seat by the Granger girl as he continued talking to the table. He said something to her and Severus saw the girl shake her head with a small laugh, long, thick curls swaying loose across her back, and something inside the professor jerked painfully.

_Of course, he would notice her,_ the voice piped up. _She's beautiful; she's inordinately intelligent, she's infinitely more mature than her classmates. What could he not see in her?_ He looked up and saw the wizard laugh at something the girl said; Severus noticed some of her female housemates look at the pair with barely concealed envy and felt a similar emotion tug at him. The breakfast platters began appearing and he saw the wizard stand, placing a casual hand on the girl's shoulder as he bid good-bye to the table and made his way to the front of the hall. The girl smiled again; shaking her head, seemingly lost in thought and Severus felt another tug in his gut as he stabbed at a boiled egg.

* * *

><p>"Are you planning on hiding in the library again this evening?" Harry asked later that morning as they set out their potions equipment, waiting for class to begin.<p>

"You know? You both could join me and catch up on your work," she replied, pulling out her textbook.

"_Or _you and I can play chess while she studies," Ron supplied, grinning as Hermione threw a thoroughly exasperated look his way.

"Exams are less than three months away, Ronald," she said, in her best bossy voice. A voice they had not heard from her since before Christmas.

"Oh, it will be fine, Hermione, we.."

"Stop talking about the exams, both of you," Harry cut in sharply. Hermione and Ron turned their attention to their friend. He sighed and looked about the room at the other students. "We need to talk… about… my meetings," he said in a low deliberate voice.

"Has Professor Dumbledore told you something new?" Hermione asked, leaning towards him and dropping her voice.

"Yes, which is why we need to discuss it."

"Ok… where?" Hermione asked. "My room?" she offered.

"Yeah. Yeah, ok, after supper," Harry nodded, running his fingers through his hair.

She could not resist asking, "Did he figure out what any of them -"

"This is not a social hour, Miss Granger," Professor Snape sneered as he swept past them, the dungeon door banging shut in his wake. "Five points from Gryffindor and you will refrain from extraneous and unnecessary speaking, which, in your case, I would suggest you remain silent for the next hour."

The Slytherins snickered while the Gryffindors glowered at the potions master as he whirled to a stop at the head of the class. He levitated a cauldron from his desk to a table in the front and beckoned them all forward. The students gathered around the table with the cauldron in the middle as the professor removed the stasis charm he had in place.

"Which of you can tell me what this is?" he intoned, standing back with arms crossed. The students all leaned forward and peered into the cauldron at once. The potion within was yellow; almost, but not quite golden. It was a thick, molten substance and as the students watched, tiny golden droplets began leaping on the potions surface like goldfish. "Nobody? How typical," he drawled.

"Sir?" Hermione piped up, flicking her amber eyes up to him, "surely you do not intend for us to brew this?"

"You will not dictate to me what I should or should not have you brewing, Miss Granger," he barked at her. "Five points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn." He looked around at the students. "I must say this class is the sorriest lot of seventh years I have ever had the misfortune of teaching," he continued, shaking his head. "Not one shred of potential between you; why if it were not my duty to impart some semblance of potions knowledge on you, I would -"

"It's Felix Felicis, sir," Hermione interjected. He stopped in his rant, black eyes locking on her from across the table. She saw him breathing heavily, as though he were truly upset that she had answered.

"Your arrogance is becoming exceedingly tiresome," he said, nostrils flaring as he tamped down his ire. "You will follow proper protocol in my classroom, is that understood?" he finished in a low, warning baritone.

"Perfectly, sir," she replied, holding his gaze steadily.

"Ten points from Gryffindor will perhaps remind you of your place," he bit out before tearing his eyes from her.

She took a deep breath as Ron gave her an exasperated look and Harry appeared livid. Twenty points down and they had not even begun brewing yet.

"What is Felix Felicis?" the professor asked, returning his eyes to her as though daring her to answer. She remained silent. The students shifted uncomfortably, no one answering.

"Felix Felicis," the professor lectured, "is a potion which makes whoever drinks it exceedingly lucky for a given period of time, during which everything they attempt will be successful. Who can tell me its properties?" Still silence, no one supplied an answer. The girl bit her lip and gave a small shake of her head. "Miss Granger?"

She looked up at him, squinting her eyes, and kept quiet. He gave her a challenging look.

"The potion is toxic in large quantities and should only be used sparingly," she answered in measured tones. "Overdose can cause giddiness and reckless behavior. It is also illegal in all sporting events."

"And why do you presume I would not have you brew it?" the professor asked.

"Because it is exceedingly dangerous to brew."

"And..?"

"And it requires six months before being fit for consumption and therefore, one would assume, judging."

"And..?"

"And… students' attention spans are far too low for such a timetable?"

The students bit back their snickers at that while the professor's eyes grew larger and darker. She looked at him, waiting, almost desiring that he should dismiss her from the class. She could not tolerate his presence like this; his tone of voice, remembering the vibrato of that baritone as it laced through her back, made her acutely uncomfortable here surrounded by students. She wanted to speak to him alone.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for your levity, Miss Granger." The Gryffindors openly groaned at this and Ron nudged Hermione in the side. "One more show of insolence and you will serve detention with Mr. Filch tonight. I hear he plans on scrubbing the prefects' bathrooms." He gave her a cruel look over the students' heads but she did not back down and continued holding his eye contact. "As it stands, you are correct. I would not entrust such a volatile potion to such an incapable class. You will be brewing Everlasting Elixirs today." He waved his wand at the board and the ingredients and instructions appeared. "Begin."

The students began making their way to the ingredients shelves, moving past Hermione as she stood there watching the professor. The potions master held the girl's eyes as she looked at him, daring her to say something. Finally, she blinked, gave a little shake of her head and moved off towards the cabinets.

"Well done, Hermione," Seamus Finnigan muttered as he passed her. "We do have a Slytherin match this weekend."

"Do you honestly think I give a flying fig about a Quidditch match?" she half-turned and snapped at him. They held matching glares on their faces and the potions master bit back a smirk at her daring slander of their sport.

"No, I don't suppose you do… You know, sometimes it's like you're not even part of our House anymore," he shot back at her. She rocked back on her heels, but managed to retain the glare on her face.

"Why is there extraneous nattering going on?" The professor's tone brooked no nonsense from his desk, where he was watching the exchange. "I suggest you both stop talking and begin brewing before you lose any more House points."

Seamus shot her one more sneer before moving off to his table. She turned and went to the ingredients shelf alone as everyone else had already collected their material.

She wanted to ignore what he said, shrug it off, but something in his words struck a nerve. People had always teased her about being mis-sorted; her intelligence landing her in Ravenclaw, her hard-working ethic putting her in Hufflepuff, her exploits with the boys - not to mention her well-known tenacity - placing her firmly in Gryffindor. The only house she had never been teased with was Slytherin; then again, her Muggleborn status was one of her defining characteristics which would more than account for that. She knew they had always teased her in jest, but she always wondered whether she actually belonged here; belonged in Gryffindor, belonged in Hogwarts, belonged in this world.

He watched the witch gathering her ingredients from beneath his overhanging locks. She appeared somewhat distraught by what the Finnigan boy had said; head down, wild curls obscuring her face. It hadn't been that harsh and he wondered whether she was simply overly sensitive. Severus had enough experience with the emotions of the teenage girls in his house to know that they often took offence at the slightest things. _Maybe it goes deeper than that_, he thought as he watched her, hoping she would move on so he wouldn't have to admonish her again. As if she could hear his thoughts; she suddenly gave a slight shake of her head, gathered her ingredients and moved to her table to begin brewing.

The rest of class passed without incident. Hermione had been reading up on the potion's theory for weeks and had no trouble applying it. She saw Ron make several mistakes, but remained silent rather than helping him and drawing further attention to herself. _Some Gryffindor courage, that is_, she thought mockingly to herself. At the end of class, she picked up her things and turned to file out of the room with the boys.

"Miss Granger. Stay behind." She heard his voice snake out to her, stopping her in her tracks. She felt a flutter of excitement in the pit of her stomach and nodded to the boys.

When they had shut the door; she turned around and saw the professor standing in front of his desk, leaning against it with his arms folded across his chest. "You may venture further into the room, Miss Granger. Despite prevailing rumors, I don't bite."

_Not even if I ask you to?_ she thought with uncharacteristic wickedness as she placed her bag on one of the tables and made her way towards him.

She had a rather odd look on her face for someone who had been distraught earlier, he thought as he watched her walk to him. Her hips swayed slightly, curls bouncing about her shoulders and she had a somewhat mischievous gleam in her eyes. He suddenly thought that perhaps this was a bad idea. She stopped in front of him, a touch closer than she ought to have perhaps, and waited for him to speak.

"Would you care to explain your insolence in my classroom today?" he inquired, giving her his best sneer as he looked down his nose at her.

"I was not aware I had been insolent, sir," she replied, tilting her head to the side in a gesture of innocence. _By gods, those eyes were going to be the death of him._

"You spoke out of turn, several times I might add, gave cheek repeatedly and almost entered a shouting match with a housemate."

"Shouting match? That's a bit of an overstatement, don't you think, Professor?" she asked. "You have not seen me in a shouting match, sir. I assure you, the signs of such a thing are exceedingly prominent."

"Are they?" His mouth twitched slightly.

"Well, I am a Gryffindor." She shrugged, as if it made sense. "We tend to erupt quite visibly, but not without a fair bit of warning when we are… provoked," she finished with a small smirk, her eyes flitting to his lips and back to his eyes.

"Indeed." He swallowed thickly and Hermione felt a distinct pooling in her core as she saw his throat work. "Nevertheless, I would have thought your time assisting me would have instilled you with more professionalism."

She cocked her head into an almost horizontal position at this, a clearly devilish smile on her full lips now.

"One would think," she replied in a low tone.

He was suddenly assailed by an image of him prying those berry lips open with his tongue, slipping it inside and pillaging that mouth that so loved to exacerbate him. Again, as if she could hear him, she sucked her lower lip between her teeth and something within him snapped. He took a step forward and then another.

"You have tortured me quite thoroughly with that lip, Miss Granger," he growled, rapidly closing the few feet between them.

He saw her release her lip, and damn her Gryffindor courage, but she did not back away from him. He enveloped her face in both hands, tilted her head to the side and sealed her mouth with his.

This scenario had been playing in his mind for weeks and he did not hesitate now.

He moved his lips slowly over hers, coaxing her response, something flaring to life within him when her soft lips began moving against his. She offered no resistance and he made full use of it; pulling that blasted lower lip into his mouth and sucking like a dying man who'd just found his drink, delighting when heard a slight whimper escape her. He released it, ran his tongue along the lip deliciously and sucked it back into his mouth, nibbling slightly. He felt her trying to deepen the kiss; her hands were at his wrists which remained on either side of her face.

Severus released her mouth, tilted her head to the other side and closed his lips over hers again. His tongue came out slightly, flitting along her lips, begging for entrance. She opened to him willingly, beautifully, and he plunged his tongue into her mouth, not able to hold back a groan as he tasted her for the first time. His cocked twitched violently as he heard her release another small whimper that he promptly swallowed as he devoured her. He stroked his tongue roughly along hers, a promise of a rather different sort of stroking he would like to give her, and she responded quite deliberately; twirling her tongue with his, almost dueling with it, adamant in being an equal partner in this taking of momentary pleasure.

He slid one hand from her face and into those curls he'd been dreaming of, pulling gently but forcefully on her hair to control the tilt of her head. His other hand ghosted down her side and wrapped around her waist, pulling her in closer. She molded her body to his immediately, as though she had been doing it for years, as though it were only natural. He felt her small hands glide up his arms to his neck, twining her fingers in the hair at the back of his head. She tugged at it, gave a small nip to his tongue in her mouth and a surge of arousal so strong he thought he would come shot down his spine to his groin. Unconsciously, he thrust his hard erection into her abdomen and she released his mouth with a small, delicious gasp.

Suddenly, he felt his sense flood back to him like an unstoppered sink; so many emotions thundering through him at once, more emotions than he thought he had felt in a lifetime. He released her and staggered back, turning around to hide his horribly tented trousers.

"What have I done?" he said to himself, swiping his hand roughly across his mouth, trying valiantly to remove her lingering taste; trying not to turn around, hoist her onto a worktable and fuck her senseless. "You must leave," he bit out. "Leave now."

"No, please," she said softly. "If we could just talk -"

"Get out!" he bellowed, not looking back at her as he practically ran to his office, slamming the door in his wake.

Hermione stood stock still in the classroom, emotions ripping through her; a part of her - a thoroughly Gryffindor part- wanted to follow him, break down his wards and force him to speak to her. Another part of her wanted to jump for joy while another wanted to curl up in a ball and cry; still another part of her remained focused on the low hum of arousal still vibrating through her. Her body was singing; there was no other way of putting it. He had made her body sing; her lips tingled where he had devoured them, her body pooling with delight. She looked at his office door; she wanted him, he wanted her, what was he being so obtuse about?

In the end, she turned around, picked up her things and left the classroom.

* * *

><p><strong>AN It will get worse before it gets better :p **

**Thoughts?**


	10. The Only Answer

**A/N I am very humbled and appreciative of the response this story has gotten. You guys are awesome and your reviews lift my spirits and feed my muse, so thank you very much :D  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 10: The Only Answer<strong>

Later that evening, after enduring two meals in the Great Hall - at which Professor Snape was predictably absent - Hermione and the boys went back to her room; ostensibly to study, but really to discuss the Headmaster's meetings with Harry.

"So, how many does he think you-know-who made?" Ron asked.

"He doesn't know, but he said that if he made one successfully then he wouldn't hesitate to make others."

"As back-ups," Hermione said, Harry nodded.

"What are these.. Hor, Horcruxes again?" the redhead asked.

"It's like a receptacle," Harry explained. "Voldemort splits off a piece of his soul into this object, and it can be anything, which is dead annoying… but he places his soul in the object and then, I don't know, hides it, I guess."

"But how does he split the soul?" Hermione asked.

"Murder," Harry replied. "You have to kill someone; it's the only way to split the soul. According to Dumbledore, at least." Hermione looked down at the book in her lap, the text blurring as she teared up.

"Hermione," Harry said, moving closer to her and pulling her into his embrace. "Not like that. What you did doesn't count?"

"Don't patronize me, Harry," she said, pulling away from him and swiping at her eyes.

"I'm not! Dumbledore said that it has to be malicious in order for it to happen. You were Imperio'd! It doesn't count, Hermione, I'm sure." She looked up at him from under thick, wet lashes. She still didn't look convinced. "I asked him about you specifically, Hermione. I knew you worried about it so I asked him."

She nodded silently, looking back down at her book and running her fingers over the page. "Does Professor Dumbledore have any idea what they are?"

"No."

"Bugger," Ron supplied. "How are we supposed to destroy them if we don't know what they are?"

"Professor Dumbledore did say he thought we had destroyed one already."

"When? How?" Ron asked.

"The diary; Voldemort's diary, the one that possessed Ginny," Harry said, adjusting his glasses. "He said the way the diary behaved, the way it latched onto Ginny made him think it was a Horcrux."

"Hidden at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked her amber eyes wide in her face. "The nerve of him."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "But it's like I told Dumbledore. If he hid one here, maybe he hid more."

"It's possible," Hermione said with a shrug.

"He also said Snape was trying to find out what the others were."

"The git?" Ron scoffed.

"That _git_," Hermione scolded, "is not only a teacher who deserves your respect but is a member of the Order. He's given his life for years for our cause, Ronald, you need to show more respect."

"He's not even here, Hermione," Ron whined.

"I don't care," she snapped, trying to control the blush creeping up to her cheek as she remembered her professor.

"Anyway," Harry said, furrowing his brows as he watched Hermione. "Apparently, Voldemort has gotten so paranoid; he doesn't even trust Snape with that information. Apparently, hasn't told anyone about the Horcruxes, as far as Snape knows."

"Well at least we know how to destroy them," Hermione suddenly said.

"What? Did you find something in the book?" Ron asked, leaning over to see the page.

"No, Harry just said they think the diary was one. You destroyed the diary with the Basilisk fang, Harry, remember?"

"Yeah, that's only if Dumbledore's right about the diary being a Horcrux though."

"Why wouldn't he be?" Ron asked. Harry just shrugged, having no response to that.

* * *

><p>The next morning Hermione was dismayed to see Professor Snape had again not ventured to the Great Hall. Honestly! What was he trying to do? Kill her through frustration alone? She was supposed to be the child here, the one hiding out of mortification, not him! After breakfast, she ran to catch up with Professor Dumbledore as he left the hall.<p>

"Headmaster," she called as she spied his gray robes turning the corner.

"Miss Granger." He smiled warmly as he waited for her to approach him.

"Headmaster, forgive me," she said. "But I can't seem to catch Professor Snape. I had some questions about our brewing schedule for tonight, you see? But he hasn't been to the Great Hall. Is he ill?" She rushed it all out, hoping the headmaster would not question it.

"He's not ill," he said deliberately. The twinkle fading a bit from his eye; that was all the hint she needed.

"What happened to him, Professor? Is he alright?" she asked, stepping closer to the old wizard and lowering her voice.

He looked at her sideways, seeming to appraise her. "He's fine. He was… summoned." She gasped. "But I assure you; he is being cared for and will be back terrorizing the students by Tuesday."

She ignored that last part. "Cared for by whom?" she demanded.

"Why, Poppy, of course," the headmaster said, as though it were the most obvious thing, which it clearly was.

"He's in the hospital wing?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"No, no, dear. He's in his chambers, Poppy checks in on him there."

The thought of the old mediwitch seeing, being in, his chambers should not have caused a twinge of envy to shoot through Hermione, but it did. "I see. Well… alright then. Thank you, headmaster, please do relay my best wishes should you see him," she said, nodding and backing away.

"Certainly, Miss Granger. I am sure he will appreciate them," Dumbledore said, twinkle fully restored.

* * *

><p>"Miss Granger sends her very best regards," the headmaster announced as he entered Severus' bedroom before supper that evening.<p>

The potions master coughed as he choked on the soup he had been trying to force down under Poppy's watchful gaze. The witch fussed about his bedchambers, arranging potions on his nightstand, flicking her wand over him as diagnostic spells occurred to her.

"I beg your pardon," Severus choked out, thumping his chest with a closed fist.

"She sends her best and wishes you a speedy recovery." The headmaster twinkled while Severus' wand hand twitched. He merely grunted in reply. "And how is our potions master feeling this evening?" This he directed to Poppy.

"He is doing better, I think," the mediwitch said, ending a diagnostic spell. "He has some damage from the Cruciatus but it's not too bad. No convulsions. There was another spell, something darker that I couldn't quite puzzle out, but he seems to have recovered from it on his own."

"It was a _Deplitero_," Severus cut in. "And I would kindly ask that you refrain from speaking about me as though I am not present, especially seeing as how you are in _my_ quarters," he sneered at the pair of them. "The spell does as it says, depletes your magical stores. Temporarily."

"Hmm," the witch grumbled. "Well, your magic is already coming back. If you stay resting, you should be back on your feet by tomorrow."

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore, clapping his hands together happily. "We shan't keep you from the hospital wing any longer, Poppy."

"Of course," the mediwitch recognized the dismissal and began gathering up her things. "Oh, Severus," she turned back to him. "Do you have my Pepper-ups and Calming Draughts? With exams fast approaching, the students are becoming rather anxious."

Severus leaned his head back against his pillow. "There should be a dozen vials of Pepper-up in my laboratory, cabinet on the right. I have not had the time to brew the Calming Draughts yet. I will bring them to you tomorrow evening."

"Oh, no, Severus, I didn't mean –"

"Tomorrow," he repeated.

"Severus?" Dumbledore interjected. "Surely, Miss Granger can brew the Calming Draughts."

The potions master schooled his features against reacting. Just the mention of her name brought the memories flooding back; the feel of her hair, her eyes, her lips moving against his. If he wasn't careful, the headmaster would see it plainly on his face. So he bit back his escalating shame and kept his eyes on the soup bowl as he replied, "Certainly."

"Wonderful," the headmaster repeated, clapping his hands again. _Deplitero_ or not, Severus might hex the wizard. "You shall have your Calming Draught tomorrow morning, Poppy. Miss Granger intimated a desire to brew this evening so I am certain it will not be a problem."

"Brilliant," the witch replied. "Well, I'll be off then. Keep resting, Severus, and if anything changes, Floo me." Severus grunted out a 'thank you' as Poppy took her leave.

Once the witch had Floo'd back to the hospital, Dumbledore levitated one of Severus' armchairs so it faced the bed, sat down and folded his robes about his body. "What happened?"

"I told you."

"You said he punished you and that you were fine. I left you to be tended to and now you are better. Tell me, why did he punish you?"

"Same reason he always punishes me. My insolence, my curiosity."

"You asked about the Horcruxes?"

"Not directly, Albus. I am not an imbecile."

"And?"

"Nothing. He is uncommonly guarded with this secret. He punished me for my curiosity. My audacity in asking questions of him."

"I'm sorry, Severus."

"Spare me, Albus," he snarled. "Now, if you do not mind, I believe I have been counseled to rest," he said, placing his soup bowl on the nightstand by the bed and turning his back on the old wizard. He lay, still as a stone, until he heard the headmaster sigh, return the chair to its place and leave the room.

* * *

><p>After supper, Hermione said goodbye to the boys and made her way out of the Great Hall to the potions classroom to begin brewing.<p>

"Hermione." She heard the voice call out behind her as she was caught up in thoughts of how her professor was faring. She turned and saw Samuel Eliot coming towards her and obediently put a small smile on her face.

"Hi, Samuel," she greeted him as he came to a stop in front of her.

"Hey, I haven't seen you around in a few days."

"Oh, you know how it is. Exams and everything," she shrugged casually.

"Are you off to the library?" He gestured to her bag.

"No, no, I'm on my way to the potions classroom. I've been assisting Professor Snape in brewing for the hospital wing."

"Really?" he asked with a bit of a shudder. "I didn't think anyone at this school spent more time than they absolutely had to with him."

Hermione stood taller, squaring her shoulders. "Professor Snape happens to be one of Hogwarts' best teachers. He is brilliant. Perhaps the most brilliant potions master this school has ever seen."

"He certainly has your loyalty," Samuel smirked.

"Excuse me," she said icily as she turned to go. "I wouldn't want to be late."

"Hermione? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you."

"You didn't insult me," Hermione replied, a little too sharply.

"Your teacher, then," he said with an apologetic smile. "Let me walk you down there." He lifted the strap of her bag from her shoulder and hoisted it to his.

"What are you doing?" she asked, bemused.

"Has no one ever carried your things for you before?" he replied, turning back from where he had begun walking. She walked to catch up with him.

"No."

"Chivalry not high on list of things to teach here?" he teased as they walked.

"Professor McGonagall taught us to waltz a few years ago," she replied smirking as she remembered the sight of Ron dancing with their Head of House.

They walked down to the dungeon quietly, each lost in their own thoughts. Hermione kept thinking of Professor Snape; whether she could see him, say something to him, whether he would pretend nothing had happened between them. It seemed so long ago, she was beginning to wonder if she hadn't dreamed it.

They arrived at the potions classroom and she turned to get her things from him, but he had pushed open the door and entered the room. She frowned, turned and followed him in. She ignored him as she moved to her usual table and began setting up her things. He set down her bag and was picking up some of the equipment he saw on her table.

"Please don't touch anything," she said, moving towards the ingredients shelf. "Professor Snape would kill me if anything were even scratched." He put the glass stirring rod down and folded his hands behind his back.

_What is he still doing here?_ she wondered as she set her ingredients out and began working on them.

"Do you need help?" he asked, watching her chop roots.

"No. No, I'm fine, Samuel. Thank you," she replied, pushing a curl out of her face as she chopped.

"Here, let me," he said, coming up behind her and twisting her thick, curly locks into a messy bun, picking up her wand from the table and pushing it through at a diagonal to keep it in place.

"Thank you," she said, hands frozen over her roots, a strange tingling erupting in her abdomen.

"Witches in America do it all the time," he said softly, letting his fingers linger as his hands came away from her neck. She looked at him; he was looking at her lips and, _oh god, _was he going to kiss her?

"Will you go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?" he finally asked, pulling his eyes away from her lips.

"Hogsmeade?" she repeated.

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Excellent."

"Good," she agreed, turning back to her roots and wondering what she was doing.

"I'll see you later, Hermione. Enjoy your brewing," he said, flashing her a wide smile before turning to leave.

"Bye, Samuel," she smiled at the wizard's retreating back. Then, shaking her head, she returned to her table of ingredients.

Fifteen minutes later, she was well into brewing; a steaming cauldron in front of her, her robes and tie off, top two buttons undone and curls falling out of that messy bun and around her face. She was squinting into the cauldron, wondering why her potion did not look as good as those from Madam Pomfrey's stores. Something was wrong with hers; it was not nearly as clear. She reverted to the text in front of her, trying to puzzle out what was wrong before she got more than one batch in.

She was so engrossed in the text; she did not notice the dark wizard that came to a stop behind her. He snuck into the classroom as quietly as his Slytherin feet would carry him, approached the girl and stopped inches from her back. He barely breathed, feeling her scent wrapping itself around him, the heat from her body touching his, the feeling so strong he swayed where he stood. He looked at her hair, tilting his head as he saw the wand jammed in; he had never seen the witch wear her hair like that. A new fad in the houses perhaps, he thought, as he intensely studied a rivulet of sweat making its way behind her ear and down the curve of her neck. Unthinking, he brought his face to that curve, she saw him on her periphery and gasped but he clamped on her arms, holding her in place. He breathed out against her, feeling her shiver in his arms, flicked out his tongue and caught the droplet of sweat, nearly groaning at the taste of her. She gave a low moan and tilted her head to the other side, affording him better access.

He knew a moment of wonder before closing his mouth over the junction where her neck met her shoulder, pulling the neck of her shirt open to lay the skin bare before him. She gasped at the sensation, jerking slightly in his arms and he stepped in closer, trying but failing to reign in his emotions. He slid his hands down and wrapped his arm around her, snaking the other one down her side and pulling the hem of her skirt up. She sighed and arced into him; he trailed hot kisses up the side of her neck to her face. She attempted to turn in his arms, but he held her firm. He pushed forward and her hands landed flat on the table to keep from falling; the act pushed her bottom into him and he unconsciously ground his erection into it, pulling another delicious moan from her.

"You let that American into my classroom," he phrased it like a question but it clearly was not one. She wasn't listening; all she was aware of was his warm breath on the side of her face, his strong lean body pressed against her, his hands gliding across the skin of her thighs, that intriguing hard length she was feeling behind her. She pushed her bottom against it experimentally; he hissed and his right hand gripped her hip under her skirt as he thrust against her backside.

"Why would you bring him here?" he whispered hotly in her ear. "Do you find yourself lonesome, Miss Granger?" His right hand ghosted around her hip, getting closer to where she wanted him, lighting her every nerve on fire as he went. Suddenly his hand was gone and she felt him pull the wand from her hair, the curls tumbling over themselves down her back in their quest for freedom.

Those curls; those blasted, thick, beautiful curls would kill him, he thought. All he could see now were those curls fanned across his pillows as she writhed beneath him or bouncing about her shoulders as she rode him or fisted in his palm as he fucked her from behind. Not so far from where he was now, he thought wickedly, his fingers instinctively tangling in her hair. He pulled at it, forcing her head back gently, exposing more neck.

"Answer me, Miss Granger," he said, trailing one finger down her neck and dipping to the front of her shirt. "Why was he here?"

"He just walked me here," she answered distractedly, not knowing what to do. Wanting more but afraid to do anything that might spook him. "He just walked me here, we chatted, then he left so I could brew."

"Hmm," he murmured, his lips back at her throat. She tried to turn in his arms again but he held her fast in place.

He slid his hands down her arms and placed his palms on the table on either side of her, peering into her cauldron. "And how is the brewing, Miss Granger?" he asked, trying to bring down his erection before he took her here and now.

"I don't want to talk about the potion, professor, please," she said trying to turn. He stilled her again.

"No, tell me. Are you having difficulties?" She gave a defeated sigh and calmed in his arms.

"It's not as clear as the ones at Madam Pomfrey's," she huffed casting a scornful look at the text.

"Yes, well, Madam Pomfrey's potions come from me," he smirked.

"I know," she replied matter-of-factly, "but I followed the instructions exactly."

"What did I say on the first day, Miss Granger?" he asked, his nose nuzzling in her hair, trying to memorize her jasmine scent.

"That potion-making is an art. That it's about intuition, having a feel for it?"

"Precisely." He allowed his hands to drift back down her sides, exploring her contours.

"So, you don't think I have a talent for potions?" she asked dejectedly.

"You are talented at many things, Miss Granger, potions does not have to be one of them."

She quieted at this, looking between the cauldron and text. He continued nuzzling her hair, planting intermittent kisses at her neck, running his hands along her delightful curves. The surprising strength of her thighs, pleasing swell of her hips, the small waist and delicate rib cage; he skimmed the sides of her breast, expecting to elicit a gasp, but she was focused on the instructions. He sighed into her shoulder, looking at her profile, at the determined look he saw there.

"One clockwise stir," he whispered in her ear. "After you finish the counter-clockwise rotations." He traced his tongue around her earlobe in a similar motion, eliciting a clear gasp this time. "Add in one clockwise. It allows better absorption, rendering the potion clearer."

He watched her pick up her stirring rod and go through the motions; hypnotized by her small, delicate hands making such self-assured movements over the cauldron and felt a wave of pride swell in his chest. He had taught her this, this and many other things, he thought; watching her chew her lip in concentration, taunting his erection.

She was not surprised when the movement worked; the potion cleared nicely and she scooped out some in a transparent ladle for a better view. She held it up at eye level and tilted her head to study it.

"What do you think, professor?" she asked, a smug smile already on her face. He stared at her profile; her thick, curled lashes framing those flaming amber eyes, full berry lips, the pert nose.

"Perfect."

She put the ladle back in the cauldron and turned to face him. He felt a momentary panic and stepped back; there was too much of her, the face, the eyes, the hair, the lips. He was going to lose control. He should move away; turn around and leave, a repeat of his cowardly move from last time. But he didn't, he simply stood looking at her.

"It would work for the Draught of the Living Death as well, wouldn't it?" she asked, gazing up into his black eyes.

He didn't seem injured, she thought, especially with the way he had behaved. And for some reason, she thought it best not to question him about that. He looked taken aback by her question; had clearly been expecting something else.

"Yes," he finally replied. "Yes, it would."

"Would that have been so difficult to teach us?" she asked, a slightly amused tone to her voice.

"I suppose not."

"Are we going to talk about what's going on between us?" His gaze whipped up from where it had been lingering at her lips and neck. _How Slytherin a tactic_, he thought.

"There is nothing to discuss." He folded his arms resolutely across his chest. She just tilted her head infuriatingly. "You are a student. I am a teacher. Nothing is happening, nothing _can _happen."

"You have a lot of nerve," she retorted, eyes flaring. "Not five minutes ago, you were practically humping me against this table," she snarled angrily.

_So much for visible warning signs,_ he thought. "Don't be crude, Miss Granger," he sighed, turning away from her.

"You don't think you owe me an explanation for this?" She ignored his comment.

"There is no explanation. You have grown into a highly desirable witch and I am not nearly as strong as I thought I was. But I will not succumb to this. These are momentary infractions, nothing more."

"I see." She crossed her arms haughtily over her chest. "Well then, why not make these infractions worth my while?"

"I beg your pardon," he said, turning to her, his incorrigible groin twitching excitedly at her suggestion.

"Professor, I may be a student, but I am of age and no longer a child. It is quite clear what you and I both want. Why are you denying it?"

"I am denying nothing," he said shaking his head. Hadn't he just told her he desired her?

"Good, " she said moving towards him, "then we agree."

She snaked her arms up his chest and around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. _No, no, no_, his brain protested. If he kissed her, he would fuck her; his control was shot to hell tonight as it was. He escaped from her arms before her lips touched his; running his fingers through his hair, he turned away from her.

"No, Miss Granger. We cannot do this."

"Why not?" She was so close to stamping her feet.

"I already told you," he sighed.

"I graduate in a few months, professor. What difference does it even make?"

"It makes an enormous difference," he bellowed, whirling on her. "I have precious few things in my life to be proud of, Miss Granger, precious few! One of them being my adherence to the code of ethics at this school, my regard for Albus' trust in me; a trust I have never come _close_ to breaking in my twenty years here. I will not, _cannot,_ break it now," he finished, glaring at her. Her eyes took on an odd look; he could not discern what she was thinking. He took a deep breath. "I have made grave trespasses upon your person. You are, of course, well within your right to go to Albus, or perhaps Minerva if you would feel more comfortable, and inform them of my –"

"Oh, don't be absurd," she scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm not going to tell anyone, especially when your advances are not unwelcome."

He looked at her defiant stance. He wanted so very much to grab her up in his arms, seal his mouth over hers and have his way with her. It would be so easy, he thought. _She wants it, I want it; what am I being so chivalrous for?_ He shook that thought out of his head.

"No," he said looking down at his feet while he continued shaking his head. "No."

She folded her arms across her chest again and looked at him; weighing her options, wondering what to do, what the best course of action would be.

"Is that your final answer?" Hermione finally asked.

"It's the only answer," he said, turning away from her and into his office.


	11. Hogsmeade

**Disclaimer: See Chapter1**

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><p><strong>Chapter 11: Hogsmeade <strong>

Hermione went through the next few days in a dejected state of melancholy. She kept going over her actions, her words, wondering if at some point she could have said or done something that would have made a difference. She contemplated returning to the dungeons, arguing her case again. His touch had reawakened something in her, something she didn't know she had, had made her feel alive when all she felt these days was numb and she found herself wanting more of that sensation.

She survived potions class that week by keeping her head down and her mouth shut; she did not volunteer answers, did not speak to any of her classmates and executed her potion to perfection. The professor didn't look at her from the moment he entered the dungeons; but instead gave his lecture without pausing for questions, instructed them to begin and sat behind his desk. He didn't rise to inspect their work, only instructing them to bottle their potions and bring them to the front when they were done. Hermione completed hers with fifteen minutes left, but she didn't care. She carefully bottled it and marched to the head of the class. Without glancing at his face, she set the vial on the desk, turned and walked out of the classroom without waiting for a dismissal.

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><p>She was angry; of course the witch was angry, Severus thought as he cast surreptitious glances her way the next morning at breakfast.<p>

She was seated with the dunderheads as usual, making occasional comments as they chatted around her, but mostly keeping her head down as she ate her oatmeal and toast. He could practically feel her anger rolling off of her and wondered how the table did not feel it. He'd gone back and forth the night before. After his last class let out, he had retreated to his chambers, opened a bottle of Firewhiskey and set about getting good and pissed. Perhaps the drink would force the desire for her out of his head, numb his firing nerves and calm the raging arousal he felt every time he thought of her.

It took too long; twice he had nearly left his quarters to search for her, to rescind his answer. _It's not like she's a third year you are disgustingly attracted to_, the voice argued; _she's a full grown witch, a witch who has all but graduated and no one would look at you in disgust for it_. Well, _that _was hardly true; her friends, the Order, all would look at him in disgust, and possibly her as well. They would think he'd drugged her or cast some sort spell on her, he thought with a sneer as he watched her nibble the crust of her toast.

Suddenly, the Eliot wizard came through the doors; face lighting as he caught sight of the witch. He made his way to her table, greeting the students as he went. The wizard placed a hand on her shoulder in greeting and she looked up with a smile on her face, causing Severus to grip his fork till his knuckles turned white. She nodded at something he said and looked down into the bag in her lap, blowing curls out of her eyes as she did. Severus saw a sideways smile on the wizard's face as he watched. Suddenly, he moved closer, took her hair in his hands and twisted the thick curls up into a messy bun.

Severus felt a distinct rage shoot up his throat, his wand hand twitching uncomfortably as he seriously considered hexing the wizard. He had done it, he had handled her hair that night; Severus felt almost nauseated by the thought of the wizard taking such liberties with her. Eliot held the hair in one hand as he leaned forward, took her wand from the table and pushed it through the bun on the diagonal. She patted it self-consciously, dipping her head as he took her things from the table. The witch retrieved the book she'd been looking for in her bag and handed it to Potter. Then she stood and followed the wizard out of the hall without a look back.

_Well, that didn't take her long,_ the voice mused; _You should've taken her when you had the chance. _Severus put his silverware down, made his excuses and left to spend the day brewing in his laboratory.

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><p>Despite her best efforts at being miserable, Hermione found herself having a nice time with the American wizard. He was fun, smart, articulate and cultured; not to mention having impeccable manners. Manners she was unused to around Ron and Harry, who tended to treat her like one of the boys. Samuel opened doors, pulled out chairs, carried her things… it was new and Hermione quickly decided she could become accustomed to it.<p>

As they had walked to Hogsmeade, Samuel had succeeded in making her laugh for the first time; a full rich laugh, not the small obliging ones she'd been giving since Christmas. When it happened, she felt two distinct and unnerving sensations; happy and comfortable in Samuel's company and two, a stab of guilt for two very different reasons. The first reason her parents' death while the second was due to what she'd been doing and contemplating doing with her potions master. She fell quiet, tuning out Samuel's discussion about an expedition to Moscow when he was at Durmstrang as she tried to puzzle out her feelings.

She decided she really shouldn't feel guilty for enjoying Samuel's company; she had nothing to feel guilty about. She'd offered herself to Professor Snape; had practically thrown herself at him really, and he had rejected her, not the other way around. What did he expect her to do? Remain sullen and dejected until she graduated. No, she thought with a firm nod of her head; that was not the Gryffindor way, was not _her _way. Her parents would want her to be happy. They would want her to enjoy her life, enjoy her friend's company. She enjoyed Samuel and even if they ended up as friends, she would be grateful for it. She wouldn't push people away and spend all her days in mourning.

"I'm intrigued by the sorting you do here," Samuel said suddenly as they settled into The Three Broomsticks for a drink.

"What about it?" she asked, refocusing her attention on the wizard.

"It seems a little odd, don't you think? To sort someone into a specific House based on what they're like when they're, what? Eleven? Twelve?"

"Well, the Sorting Hat is supposed to discern a person's fundamental personality traits; traits that, one would assume, are an integral part of the person and thus, would not be liable to change." She shrugged, taking a sip of her Butterbeer.

"And these traits would manifest themselves at eleven?" he asked skeptically. She shrugged again.

"The Hat doesn't just decide on its own though," she said. "Harry argued with it during his sorting. It wanted to place him in Slytherin. It argued with me as well, telling me I ought to be in Ravenclaw."

"And it listened to you both when you asked for Gryffindor?" She nodded. "Why did you fight for that House?"

"Well, I think Harry did it because he had already befriended Ron on the train to Hogwarts and wanted to stay with him."

"And you?"

"I don't know," she said, an odd expression lighting her face. "You know? I've never really thought about it. The Hat just kept going back and forth between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Finally, I said Gryffindor and it shouted it out." Her gaze drifted over his left shoulder. "I read _Hogwarts: A History_ before coming to school so perhaps subconsciously I admired Godric Gryffindor." She shrugged again.

"Remus seems to think you would have done well in Ravenclaw," he said, tilting his head at her with a twinkle in his deep blue eyes.

"You spoke to Remus about me?" she asked with a slight edge to her voice.

"Only a little," he replied reassuringly. "Don't get me wrong. He said you're as Gryffindor as anyone. But he did admit that you were.. What did he say? 'The brightest witch of your age' and that Ravenclaw would have helped you sharpen that aspect of your personality."

"Implying that being a Gryffindor has held me back?" He shrugged at that.

"I don't know," she said. "Sometimes I think the Hat doesn't really know what it's doing and just assigns students however it likes. I mean, if you look hard enough you can find traits of all the houses in anyone."

"Even Slytherin?" he said with a smirk.

"Slytherin is … unique," she admitted, her thoughts unwillingly going to a certain Slytherin in particular. "I was rather surprised the Hat put you there; as you seem to have more Gryffindor characteristics." He shrugged again good-naturedly.

"Would you have wanted to be placed in Slytherin?" he asked. She threw her head back and gave a full and rich laugh at that. "What's so funny?" he asked, joining in her laughter.

"I'm muggleborn, Samuel," she replied, still shaking her head. "The Hat would never have placed me in Slytherin."

"I'm a half-blood," he protested.

"It's not the same," she said with a firm shake of her head.

He chewed on that for a moment and they sat drinking their Butterbeers in silence. A silence that was not particularly awkward, she thought with a smile.

"Your parents are Muggles then?" he asked after some moments, noticing how she stiffened in her seat. Her large amber eyes studied him for a long minute before she seemed to force her posture into a more relaxed state before answering.

"Yes, they were," she said deliberately. He caught the tense immediately.

"Were?"

She looked down at her mug, bottom lip wedged between her teeth. A moment later, she lifted her head but turned her face sideways so he was looking at her profile.

"Yes… they were … killed… last Christmas." She dipped her head again, tapping her fingers against the mug.

"Hermione?" His voice was soft and gentle. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"It's ok," she said quietly, shaking her head and hoping he wouldn't ask for more details. She had so recently gotten to the point where she didn't have to cry everyday and she really didn't want to break down in The Three Broomsticks.

"Was it Deatheaters?" he asked gently.

She turned her face back up to him and he could see the depth of grief staring out through those eyes. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak and turned her face away from him again, her eyes going to the ceiling as she willed the tears away. He reached across the table and took her hand in both of his, willing her to look at him. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

She did look at him then, taking in his kind eyes; the sheer goodness of him shone through his eyes and she knew, _she just knew_, that she could trust him. She could trust this wizard to not harm her; it was a purely instinctual reaction, one that surprised and delighted her in equal measure. She gave him a sad, half smile. He returned it, squeezed her hand again and they both returned to sipping their beers in companionable silence.

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><p>Two days later she was back in the potions classroom brewing for the hospital wing; the professor had owled her a note during breakfast requesting her presence that evening. She'd been elated; thinking that perhaps he was relenting, perhaps he would allow something between them after all. Her spirits quickly sank when she arrived at the classroom. The potions master was nowhere to be seen, but had instead left her a list of potions to brew and their quantities. Again she contemplated pounding on his office door in protest, but what would she say? He'd made his feelings clear in this regard and was obviously staying away from her in order to abide by his decision. <em>Stupid, noble wizard<em>, she thought as she viciously ground some Asphodel root.

A few floors away, the noble wizard in question sat in the headmaster's office, enduring one of the old wizard's soliloquies on the power of love and trust and how they would be essential in winning the war. He tried to keep his mind off the witch who was brewing in his classroom, but found it difficult considering his well-known impatience with the subject matter at hand. He glanced at his watch; she must have been there for fifteen minutes by now. He found himself wondering whether she had discarded her robe and tie yet; whether she had unbuttoned her shirt at all, what state that abominable hair was in. On the heels of that thought came the image of the American twisting the girl's hair in his hands as she smiled. Severus tamped down his anger and kept telling himself he'd made the right choice, the _only _choice.

"Do you agree, Severus?" The headmaster's voice cut into his thoughts.

"With what, Albus?" he replied, not even attempting to pretend he'd been paying attention.

"That the love between Harry, Ron and Hermione will go a long way towards winning this war?"

Severus looked at the old wizard, cocking his head and wondering whether Dumbledore had completely gone off his rocker. "I am hardly in a position to expound on the power of _love_, Headmaster," he bit the word out as if it tasted rancid in his mouth. "It may constitute a power, but it certainly does not win wars."

"Lily's love for Harry kept him alive." The headmaster saw his potions master sneer at the mention of the witch's name. "Kept him alive to grow into a wizard who has the potential to win this war."

"Her sacrifice saved his life, Albus. Do not confuse that with an ability to win a war against one of the most powerful wizards, Dark or otherwise, our world has ever seen."

"But the prophecy –"

"I do not put much faith in prophecies," Severus interjected.

"What do you put your faith in, Severus?" the headmaster asked with a slight twinkle. The potions master merely glared at him. "In any case," he carried on. "I am attempting to give Harry the tools which will help him fulfill his destiny." Severus just shook his head. "I have asked him to keep it between us though I am fairly certain he has told Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger." Severus kept his expression of acute boredom firmly locked on his features.

"Speaking of Miss Granger," the headmaster carried on obliviously. "Any luck finding out who the Deatheaters were that attacked her?"

"No," Severus replied with a shake of his head. "They are keeping inordinately tight-lipped about the entire affair."

"Surely Tom realizes by now that you know?"

"He does."

The headmaster cocked his head at the dark-haired wizard, twinkle fading from his blue eyes. "And you did not feel the need to report to me about it?"

"There was nothing to report," he replied with a slight shrug. "We were discussing that attack on the Auror office I told you about last month and he asked whether I had heard of his 'wonderful success with the mudblood'." Severus cringed as he quoted the Dark Lord. "I told him I had, he asked what I thought. I told him it was genius and that was that."

"I see," the headmaster mused, stroking his long beard. "And that was the last he spoke to you about it?"

"He seemed satisfied by my utter lack of interest in the affair."

"Indeed. And what a peculiar lack of interest it is. Tell me, how is she coming along with the brewing?"

"Her work is adequate," the professor replied, swirling the teacup in his hand.

"Just adequate?"

"She has no natural talent for the art; however, she is able to follow instructions to the letter…. Has Poppy complained at all?" he asked, taking a sip, knowing full well the mediwitch hadn't.

"Oh, no, not at all," the headmaster agreed. After a moment he added, "Miss Granger seems to enjoy her time in the classroom."

"She has always enjoyed classrooms; it is an integral part of what makes her so insufferable."

"I meant the brewing. I was wondering if she might stay on as an apprentice next year." He watched the potions master's eyes widen minutely.

"I will not mentor her, Albus, if that is what you are asking. She has no innate talent for the art."

"Hmm," the headmaster hummed thoughtfully as he continued stroking his long white beard. "Well, it would all depend on her desires, of course."

_Oh, if you only knew the extent of her desires,_ Severus thought, gazing into his teacup.

"Professor Vector is considering offering her an apprenticeship in Arithmancy. Minerva seems keen to offer her one in Transfiguration as well, though it seems Minerva's intentions are more towards keeping her here where we might care for her than to an actual desire to see her apprentice in –"

"Is there a point to any of this, Albus?" Severus interrupted sharply. "I do not know how you came to the notion that I care about Miss Granger's future career. The witch can apprentice in Arithmancy, Transfiguration or bloody Divination for all I care. Now, shall we discuss something of actual import or do you insist on boring me with the future aspirations of your beloved Gryffindors?"

The headmaster gave him a small smile, his blasted blue eyes twinkling madly in his head. He offered Severus a lemon drop, which the potions master snarled at, before popping it in his own mouth with a chuckle.

"Forgive me, Severus," he replied calmly. "Of course, let us discuss Tom's upcoming plans for our beloved school."

Severus harrumphed before launching into a strategic discussion, his voice cool and steady in the familiar topic.

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><p><strong>AN Most of the responses towards Sam have been rather negative, which bums me out cos I quite like him. :p He doesn't feature very prominently in this story, but he does play his part. We shall see where it leads them ;) **

**Coming up: Samuel makes a move while Severus tries valiantly to hold it together.**


	12. Decisions & Revisions

**A/N Unfortunately, chapters 11, 12 and 13 will not have much direct interaction between Hermione and Severus. This is in order to illustrate Severus' resolve in trying to stay away from her. Bear with me and I shall reward you ;)  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<br>**

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><p><strong>Chapter 12: Decisions &amp; Revisions<strong>

Later that evening, after she had lingered as long as she could in the potions classroom without the Professor making an appearance, Hermione met up with the boys in her room in an attempt to force them into their revisions. She had gotten them through Charms and Transfiguration before the boys' minds started wandering; Hermione managed to lure them back into their studies for another half hour before giving up to the futility of it.

"Has Dumbledore told you anything new about the Horcruxes?" Ron asked. Hermione lifted her head from her book in interest.

"No, just that he's trying to figure out what they are," Harry replied, lazily thumbing through his Potions text.

"If he thinks you can help, because of that connection you have with you-know-who," Ron said, "why doesn't he find a way to use that to locate them?"

"Ronald!" Hermione admonished. "Do you realize how dangerous that might be? The headmaster doesn't even understand the full extent of the connection Harry has with Voldemort. Oh don't shudder! Honestly, it's just a name!" she huffed. "It would be incredibly irresponsible to attempt to manipulate the connection like that."

"You sound like Dumbledore," Harry complained, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Well, one of us ought to," she retorted.

"He thinks that they might be family artifacts so he and Snape are digging into Voldemort's family tree to see if there are any objects they can find that fit the description."

"Shouldn't we be involved in that?" Ron asked.

"Technically, _you_ shouldn't be involved in anything," Harry replied. "I'm not even meant to have told you. Plus, Dumbledore is adamant that I finish out the year and said I can't go gallivanting around the country in search of Horcruxes."

"Gallivanting?" Ron asked with furrowed brows.

"His word, not mine."

"Well, he's right," said Hermione. "It's best to leave this to the Order, at least for now. I'm sure they'll tell you when and if they need you to be involved."

"You're nearly as comforting as Dumbledore as well," Harry quipped. Hermione threw a pillow at his head in response.

"Oh, now you've done it," Harry cried, rearing up on his knees on the bed armed with a pillow.

Ron picked one up as well and joined the fray as the three friends attacked each other repeatedly, the boys reveling in Hermione's giggles, ecstatic that they had succeeded in making her laugh.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door. Hermione lifted herself from the mounds of pillows she had been buried under, laughing as she adjusted her top and smoothed down her hair, which had taken on a life of its own around her head. She opened the door to find Samuel standing there with a wide smile.

"Hi, Samuel," she greeted him, still catching her breath.

"Hi, Hermione. Hi, guys," he said as he caught sight of the boys behind her. They waved at the wizard as they straightened up her bed, picking notebooks up off the floor. Samuel cocked his head and returned his eyes to Hermione with a questioning grin.

"Pillow fight…" she mumbled as she smoothed her hair. "What's up?"

"Not much, how's your day?" he asked.

"Good, good, not bad."

"Awesome," he replied with a smile as he thought to himself how good she looked in her disheveled state. She caught his eyes trailing quickly down her body and bit her lower lip as an odd feeling fluttered through her.

"I'd invite you in, Samuel, but despite appearances we are actually revising for exams so..."

"Oh, no it's fine," he said with a wave of his hand. "I'm actually on my way to a staff meeting, but I was wondering if we could do dinner tomorrow night. I was thinking Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade?" she repeated.

"Yes."

"Umm," she said with a small laugh. "Students aren't meant to be off Hogwarts grounds. Not unless it's a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Oh, right. Right. Forgot about that," he said with a mock smack on his head. "Ok, no problem. I'll think of something else, but you're fine for dinner tomorrow night?"

"Yes." She bit her lip again as she leaned against the doorjamb.

"Perfect." He smiled. "I'll talk to you tomorrow then." She nodded at the wizard, manic curls bouncing around her face and he found he could not help himself. He leaned forward, cupping the side of her face lightly as he placed a small kiss on her cheek. He pulled back and looked at her, watching a blush invade her cheeks; quite prettily, he thought.

"Good night," he said with another smile as he turned and made his way back down the hall.

She closed the door and turned around to look at the boys, still feeling the blush coloring her cheeks as they stared at her open mouthed.

"Well, that was interesting," Harry said.

"The girls are not gonna like that," Ron added shaking his head with a laugh.

"Oh, as if I give a damn what the girls think," Hermione huffed as she made a beeline for the bathroom to splash some water on her face, hearing the boys burst out laughing at her retreat.

* * *

><p>Severus wondered how much tedium he could endure in one day; he had endured so much of Dumbledore's "love" talk that their meeting had now stretched into the time allotted for the staff and Severus had not had the opportunity to retreat to his solitude in preparation. Instead, he now sat in the room, early for a meeting he could not wait to be done with and forced to listen to the American wizard prattle on about the minutiae of his apprenticeship with the werewolf while Dumbledore gazed out the window, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.<p>

He found himself wondering what Granger was liable to see in the wizard. _Who are you fooling?_ the voice in his head mocked; _He is everything you are not. Young, charismatic, sociable, handsome... he may as well have the word 'Marauder' stamped on his forehead._ The wizard would have fit in nicely with Potter and his gang of mischief-makers, he thought with a sneer; _must be why he and the werewolf get along so well_.

"Professor Dumbledore?" the young wizard spoke up suddenly.

"Yes, Mr. Eliot," the headmaster replied, turning in his seat to face the table.

"I was wondering if I might inquire about a bit of school protocol... though now that I think of it, I should probably speak with Professor McGonagall about it," he replied with a look at Lupin.

"That's quite alright," Dumbledore said, inclining his head.

"Well, I was wondering about the possibility of taking a student off Hogwarts grounds... just to Hogsmeade," he rushed out. Severus fixed his dark eyes on the wizard.

"Ahh," the headmaster twinkled. "Was there a student in particular or were you planning to choose one at random on the day?"

The wizard ducked his head a bit at this with a small laugh. "No, sir. I was planning on taking Hermione Granger to dinner."

"Hmm," the headmaster mused, stroking his beard with a smile on his face.

"I can vouch for him, Albus," Lupin supplied as Severus' eyes narrowed and a sneer of disgust colored his lips. "He would not harm her."

"Oh, I've no doubt about that, Remus," the old wizard concurred immediately.

"I can also vouch for his ability to keep her safe," the werewolf added delicately. "He is quite advanced in his DADA work. In fact -"

"The rules of this institution are set in place for a reason, Lupin," Severus cut in with a snarl. "Given your recent reinstatement, perhaps you are not as familiar with them. The students' safety is our foremost responsibility; a responsibility that cannot be shunned to satisfy the ridiculous romantic whims of your apprentice."

The wizards fell quiet at this and Severus felt a spark of triumph mix with his rage. The stupid, _stupid _wizard. How ignorant was he of the war? To think he could take Granger out, at night, _unchaperoned_; all to satisfy his desire to bed her. He tried to tamp down his ire, swirling his teacup round and round in his hand while he focused on normalizing his reaction.

"I am sure Miss Granger would love the change of scenery," Dumbledore mused. Severus lifted his face to the headmaster in shock.

"Surely, you are not entertaining this madness, Albus," he growled. The old wizard turned to him with kind eyes.

"No, no, of course not. Severus is correct. We are living in dangerous times, some of us in more danger than others. And I am afraid I cannot allow such a risk, Mr. Eliot. You shall have to find a way to indulge your." He glanced at Severus. "Romantic whims within Hogwarts grounds."

"Of course, headmaster," the young wizard nodded and turned back to the werewolf with a shrug. Severus felt his heartbeat begin to slow; confident he could get through the meeting without hexing any of the blasted wizards.

"Oh and Mr. Eliot?" Albus said. "Do be careful with Miss Granger. She holds a very special place in all our hearts."

"Of course," Eliot repeated as Severus turned his face to the window looking out over the grounds.

"Sorry, we're late," Minerva called as she burst through the door with Flitwick and Vector in tow. "A spat between Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs we had to split up."

"Quite alright," Dumbledore replied good-naturedly. "We are still waiting for the others - Oh, there they are. Perfect, now we can begin."

Severus refilled his teacup, adding a splash of firewhiskey, before settling himself in for at least another hour of tedium.

* * *

><p>The next day, Severus kept his head low over his lunch as he fought the hangover he was battling. He had attacked half a bottle of firewhiskey in his chambers after the headmaster had finally released them.<p>

Tormented by thoughts of the girl; her scent, her abominable hair, her full yielding lips, her promising curves, it all sent him into a frenzy of enraged arousal. He wanted to fuck her, wanted to strangle her for tempting him so, he wanted so many varied things that he had difficulty keeping it straight. If only he had satisfied his desire for her, he thought, it would be done with and he would no longer be tormented by the idea.

And now he had brand new images to torture himself with, he thought manically, images that were discomfiting in a wholly different manner; images of the hated wizard tangling his hands in those curls, being allowed to hold her, kiss her. Severus had paced his rooms like a caged tiger; rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck as he took swigs from the bottle, not bothering with a glass. A quarter of the way through, he collapsed in an ungraceful heap on the sofa, thoroughly disgusted with himself. He was not a drunk, he was not his father. It was the witch; the blasted witch was driving him to this. His last thought before passing out on the sofa was a repeat of his earlier one... he should have fucked her when he had the chance.

And now he sat at the High Table wishing he had taken a Sobering Potion before leaving his quarters and vowing to swallow an entire vial-full before his first class of dunderheads that afternoon. He didn't even notice whether the Granger girl was at the table which was why, halfway through lunch, he was surprised to find her walk hurriedly into the hall. He saw the American's face light up from the corner of his eye and gripped his fork tighter. Severus watched her from under his curtain of unwashed hair as she stopped at her friends' end of the table and spoke briefly with them. She did not linger, but instead picked up a couple of sandwiches in a napkin and bade them goodbye. Severus heard a chair scrape to his far left as Eliot descended the steps and jogged down the aisle to catch her. She stopped in her tracks as she heard her name and turned to the wizard with an easy smile. Severus cracked his neck to the side in annoyance, keeping his head down. Eliot said something to her that she nodded to and Severus saw her mouth 'of course'. The wizard put his hand on her arm, leaned in and whispered in the witch's ear. Her eyes were down as she listened with a smile on her face before pulling that bottom lip between her teeth and Severus felt something within him crack painfully. She let out an uncharacteristically feminine, and thoroughly enticing, giggle at whatever the wizard said and he pulled back with a smile before pushing a curl behind her left ear and placing a small, quick kiss on the opposite cheek.

Severus feared his magic would begin manifesting itself physically and dropped his gaze to the plate, knowing it was too late. He had already seen more than enough, too much_. All the more images to torture yourself with later,_ the voice mocked cruelly as he focused all his energy on calming his reaction.


	13. The Werewolf's Apprentice

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

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><p><strong>Chapter 14: The Werewolf's Apprentice <strong>

"Where are we going, Samuel?"

"Patience, Granger. You'll see."

It was the evening of her first date with the wizard and Hermione found herself actually nervous. She had showered; washing her hair and conditioning it twice before standing in front of her closet for half an hour deciding what to wear. She was thoroughly unaccustomed to the process; her past experiences had not included proper dating. There was the Yule Ball with Krum and a few outings with a Muggle boy from home, but never any actual dinner dating and such. Consequently, she was at a loss. She seriously considered jeans and a jumper, i.e. what she would wear on any given weekend, but ultimately thought better of it.

She had finally settled on a deep red, knee-length dress with a flattering V-neck and cap sleeves with some plain black flats for her feet. Around her neck she wore a small silver pendant her parents had given her ages ago; it was a simple wand, looked somewhat like a twig if you didn't look too closely, but she adored it. She fussed with her hair for another half hour before giving up and leaving it alone; a small smirk on her lips as she thought that Samuel could twist it into a bun if it bothered him so much. She finished everything off with the lightest touch of makeup and bare lips. Did she leave them bare because she was hoping he would kiss her? she thought as she gave herself one last look. Would she feel guilty if she kissed him back? What should she have to feel guilty about? she thought, with a shake of her head.

She followed Samuel through the corridors, hand folded tightly in his; admiring his strong, broad shoulders in his button down shirt, so different than when encased in apprentice robes. Finally, they arrived at a statue of a knight in full armor where Samuel released her hand, took out his wand and tapped the knight's shoulders; first left, then right and said, "_Honore Ducimus_". The knight shimmered before inclining its head and shifting to the side, revealing a hidden passageway. Samuel turned to the curly-haired witch and delighted in the wonder he saw in those amber eyes. Holding out his hand to her, he pulled her through the archway into the passage beyond.

"In honor we pass," she commented as they began walking.

"You know your Latin," he said approvingly.

"It's hard not to considering most of our spell work is in the language."

"Yeah, but most wizards and witches just learn enough to get them through their spells. They don't bother with actually learning the language." He looked over his shoulder at her and caught her shrugging.

"You're taking me to the Shrieking Shack," she said after a minute of walking. He stopped and turned to her with wide eyes.

"Do you know everything?"

She giggled at that and kept walking, placing a hand on his back to urge him on. "Harry, Ron and I had a little misadventure in the Shack a few years ago and we found out that there was a passageway connecting it to Hogwarts… though the Headmaster never actually told us where it was." He could hear her frown at this.

"Well, so much for my surprise," he said in mock disappointment.

She gave his shoulder a playful push. "I'm sure it will be lovely. Though you do know I'm not supposed to be off Hogwarts grounds."

"I thought this constituted a nice little loophole, being an extension of Hogwarts such as it were," he replied with a mischievous smirk.

"Did you get this idea from Remus?"

"Perhaps." He smirked again.

They progressed quietly for a few minutes as they moved carefully, wands lit to avoid loose stones and tried not to trip in the darkened tunnel. "I should have come through here and lit some sconces," Samuel commented as Hermione nearly tripped on a stone. She shook her head with a laugh and they continued on, Hermione's hand gripped firmly in the wizard's as he led the way. Finally, the ground seemed to lift on a slight incline and Samuel moved Hermione in front of him in case she tripped on her way up the end of the tunnel. She arrived at a trapdoor over her head and moved aside as Samuel pushed it open and lifted himself through the opening; he offered his hand down and pulled Hermione up to join him.

"Well done," she said happily as she smoothed out her dress.

"I know, right? We got here in one piece." He smiled, brushing a curl out of her eye. He took her hand in his and led her through the Shack. "I suppose you know your way around then, do you?" he teased.

"Not really," she protested. "We really didn't come here to 'have a look around' and we certainly didn't dawdle... It's supposed to be the most haunted building in all of Britain, you know?"

"Is it now?" he asked, turning to face her and walking backwards through one of the rooms. "Are you scared?"

She tossed her head back with a laugh. "Yes, I'm scared you'll fall and hurt yourself if you keep walking like that." She tugged him to a halt.

He laughed with her and turned to walk properly. He led her up the stairs and Hermione felt a flutter of nerves as she remembered that being where the bedroom was when last she was here. They turned the corner at the top of the stairs and he guided her into a room, his hand at the small of her back. It was the same room they had been in before, Hermione noted as she looked around, but it was no longer a bedroom. The bed was gone and in its place was a dining table set for two; the piano remained in place but was fully restored to its former glory. She walked in and took a turn about the room, inspecting the now clean walls and floors.

She turned back to the wizard. "Are you planning on serenading me tonight?" she asked as she leaned against the piano. _Where had this flirtatiousness come from?_ she thought worriedly as she straightened her posture.

"If you play your cards right," he teased, deep blue eyes drinking her in. "That's a lovely color on you, you know?" he added, voice dipping lower. She turned her face away; blushing, lower lip caught between her teeth.

"Did you bring the house-elves to clean?" she asked abruptly, moving away from the piano as he had begun approaching her. She spun to face him from the middle of the room. "Last time I was here, there was dust and grime everywhere. It was absolutely disgusting."

"I'm perfectly capable of a few cleaning spells, Hermione," he said in that same deep tone, leaning his elbow on the piano and crossing his ankles as he watched her.

"Right," she said, biting her lower lip again as she tried to avoid his eyes. He allowed her to stew in her discomfort for a moment as he gazed at her.

"Shall we sit?" he finally said, gesturing to the table.

She nodded and made her way over; taking in the Gryffindor gold of the table cloth, the delicate wine glasses and silverware. He pulled out her chair for her as she sat and noticed the single rose on her plate. She picked it up and inhaled lightly.

"Thank you," she said genuinely, looking up to him as he sat across from her.

He inclined his head slightly in response, the front of his soft, brown hair flopping in his eyes a bit. He flicked his wand and a bottle of chilled wine appeared at the table which he uncorked and poured into their glasses.

"I'm not going to do that pretentious wine sniffing thing some people do, I hope that's alright," he said as he handed her the glass.

"Oh, I'm devastated," she replied, hand at her chest in mock horror.

"You will have to endure it," he teased, touching his glass to hers and keeping his eyes locked on her as they took a sip.

"It's good," she commented, setting her glass down and looking to her right. "Oh, my goodness! Look at that view!"

She hopped up from her chair and moved to the window. Their position gave them a clear view of the Scottish Highlands to the left and the far edge of the great lake to the right. The Highlands still sparkled under the remnants of their winter snow and the lake seemed to twinkle under the bright half-moon. It was stunning and Hermione felt her eyes inexplicably tear up as she took it in.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

"Yes, it is," he affirmed coming up beside her, eyes never leaving her moonlit face.

Again, the wizard could not contain himself. He took her chin gently in hand and turned it to him, drinking in her perfectly ordinary, and yet somehow, gloriously perfect features. Her amber eyes widened as she realized his intentions and he felt he could quite easily fall into those eyes. Keeping his hand at her chin; he leaned in and placed a gentle, chaste kiss on her full lips, not wanting to scare her away by moving too fast.

He kept his lips there for a moment and, yes, there it was! The witch was kissing him back; her lips moving softly, tentatively against his. He moved his hand from her cheek, pushing her wild hair behind her ear and caressing her face as he deepened the kiss slightly. He felt her lips open against his and had to taste her; dipping his tongue slightly past her lips, he tasted the wine on her tongue, flitting his own against it experimentally and nearly cursing as he felt her pull away. He released her and she backed away from him and into the wall; eyes wide, lower lip firmly ensconced in her teeth.

"I'm sorry," he said with his hands raised in supplication. "I didn't mean to do that. Honestly, Hermione, I didn't bring you up here to attack you or anything. I just .. couldn't help myself.. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's.. it's fine," she said, pushing her hair behind her ears. "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

"Nor was I." He gave a small laugh; rocked on his heels for a moment. "Should we just blame it on the view?" he finally asked with a shrug, grinning.

She looked at him; she could tell he was trying to diffuse the tension, trying to not let their evening be spoiled by a kiss taken too soon. _But, was it too soon?_ she thought. _I have nothing to feel guilty about,_ she reminded herself with a shake of her head. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Yes, absolutely, completely the view's fault," she replied, laughing as she returned to her seat at the table. She unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap, trying to shake the image of a dark haired, obsidian eyed wizard from her head.

* * *

><p>Samuel kept a respectful distance after that, careful with his hands and mindful of not appearing to stare at her. He promptly turned the subject to more benign topics; their respective childhoods, education, friendships. He told her of his plans to return to America once he finished his apprenticeship, desiring to join a New England Auror office. He asked about her plans after Hogwarts and she side-stepped the issue, not wanting to admit that she hadn't thought beyond her NEWTs and Harry's Horcrux mission which was sure to follow. She resolutely filed the kiss away for later deliberation; refusing to allow her mind to think on what it could mean, for her, for Samuel, for the Professor... though she hated herself for thinking of him at all.<p>

After dinner, Samuel did favor her with a song, though he bowed out of serenading, opting instead to play a hauntingly beautiful instrumental. Hermione leaned against the piano as she watched him concentrate over the keys. The song was at once soothing and hesitant; a gentle tinkling that slowly gained in confidence as it picked up speed and urgency, soaring and falling before beginning anew. Hermione's eyes drifted to the window again, tearing up again as the song built to a frenzy. There was something so earnest and hopeful and yet, somehow, utterly defeated in the melody, and it resonated deep in her chest. The song came to an end on the same hesitant and conflicted note it began on and Hermione returned her wet eyes to the wizard.

"I didn't mean to make you cry." He looked alarmed.

"It's ok. Ugh, I'm sorry," she said, swiping at her tears. He stood and came around to her, standing before her with his head tilted in concern. "It was beautiful. You play beautifully." She sniffed. "What's the song called?"

"'River Flows in you'," he replied, "by a South Korean composer."

"It's beautiful," she repeated, gazing down at the piano.

"Yes," he said hesitantly. "...It seems all I've done tonight is upset you."

She looked up at him and stepped closer. "No, Samuel. I've had a lovely time, honestly... I feel comfortable with you." She looked up at him from beneath thick, curly lashes. He raised his hand tentatively and brushed her cheek. She took another step forward and he enveloped her in an easy embrace.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape stalked through the halls of Hogwarts; mind abuzz with thoughts, longings, strategies, decisions, worries and everything in between. He maliciously dragged students out of corners and alcoves, viciously deducting House points from everyone he saw, even a pair of Slytherins were not safe from his wrath.<p>

_You have to get yourself under control, _he thought as he walked; _You made your choice and the witch has made hers. If it hadn't been the American, it would have been someone else. _That thought comforted him for all of five seconds. _Imagine if she had chosen Weasley, _the voice sneered, _or worse still, Potter. That would make what? two witches that chose a Potter over you?_ The thought was a thoroughly depressing one for him and he deducted a massive twenty five points from a pair of unlucky Gryffindors he found tangled in a corner of the corridor.

Stalking his way down to the ground floor; he resolved to push the witch out of his mind, he had lost his opportunity with her - tossed it away, more like - and he would suck it up and be a man about it. He would not, _would not,_ allow an annoying little chit to have such an effect on him. Who was she that he should be so obsessed with her? For obsessed with her, he surely had become. He'd made his choice and it was no concern of his what she did or did not do with the remainder of her year. _And what happens if she comes back here to apprentice?_ the voice asked. He smirked to himself; _we shall just have to cross that bridge when we come to it. _

He stopped short, hearing a soft, decidedly feminine, giggle rounding the corner. He adopted his most fearsome Potions Master/Deatheater stance and waited for the witch to appear; he would never forget who that blasted giggle belonged to. Sure enough, the witch rounded the corner, hand held firmly in the American's. She saw Snape first and stopped in her tracks, abruptly releasing his hand as the wizard bumped her shoulder slightly, coming to a stop. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw the professor standing there, his black eyes flicking to the rose in her other hand before burning into her face, seeming to dissect her where she stood. He did not spare a glance to her companion.

"Professor Snape? How nice to see you," the wizard said politely.

The professor shot a sneer at him and did not return the greeting. "Eliot. You may be an apprentice at this school and not subject to its rules, but, _unfortunately_." His eyes slid to hers deliberately at this. "Miss Granger remains a student and as such must adhere to curfew."

"I apologize, Professor Snape," the wizard replied in a placating tone. "It was entirely my fault."

"I have no doubt," the dark wizard drawled, not taking his eyes from the witch.

Her face was flushed, hair tousled; embarrassed? Hot? _Aroused?_ He found himself guessing and thoroughly loathing the fact that he had to. He took in her red dress; couldn't be more Gryffindor if she shouted it, he thought. Despite its color - _or maybe because of it, _the voice argued - the dress became her, hinting at the sensual curves within it, the full breasts and tantalizing hips he had but a mere passing knowledge of. His eyes drifted up to hers, catching the wizard's slightly puzzled look from his periphery. "Nevertheless, rules are rules," he said lazily. "Thirty points from Gryffindor for missing curfew."

"Professor Snape!" the wizard protested. "Don't you think that's a bit harsh?"

"Did I somehow miss your promotion to Professor, Eliot?" he snarled at him. Hermione pulled back, a mixed expression on her face; part surprise, part anger and part something which Severus could not identify. "Keep talking and I shall make it fifty."

The wizard looked like he was prepared to continue protesting when the girl tugged on his arm. "Samuel, no. It's fine, please."

Severus bit out a snarl and turned away from them. "Back to the tower, Miss Granger, before you become an official pariah in your House," he tossed over his shoulder as he stalked back the way he had come.

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><p><strong>AN Don't hate me :p**

**A lot of Hermione and Severus interaction coming up... :)**


	14. Fangs, Part I

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

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><p><strong>Chapter 14: Fangs, Part I <strong>

The next week passed uneventfully; Hermione and Professor Snape gave one another a wide berth. He did not call for her assistance nor did she go to the dungeons to offer it. His reaction the night she had returned to the castle with Samuel unnerved her. She knew he was upset by her romantic involvement with the wizard but it was not as if she were intentionally flaunting it in his face. She and Samuel behaved rather discreetly, she thought; careful not to be physically affectionate in the halls or corridors, they were rarely even seen together around the school. Finally, on Friday, she resolved to speak with the potions master after class; to resolve the issue one way or another and, hopefully, retain her brewing privileges.

She'd kept her head down throughout class; being as unobtrusive as possible, not volunteering answers or assisting any of her housemates. The potions master followed her lead; ignoring her as thoroughly as possible while heaping insults upon all her peers. He had so completely demoralized her that by the end of class, she had reconsidered her notion of confronting him and gathered her things to follow the boys out of class.

"Miss Granger," his baritone whipped against her back just as she made it to the door, only this time, it was not a flutter of excitement that erupted within her, but dread. "Your brewing assistance will no longer be needed. You are dismissed," he said without looking up from his papers.

She just stood there, attempting to process what he was telling her; why he was doing this, what she had done to deserve it. In shock, she turned wordlessly and followed the boys out of the room, stopping once she was outside to collect herself.

"That's good news, right?" said Ron. "Now you can hang out with us more."

She just glared at him silently without moving.

"I mean, we can spend more time talking about the meetings?" The red-head tried again; still she just glared at him.

"I mean... we can... study more?" he said hesitantly with a small grin on his face. Harry shook his head, trying to contain his chuckle.

"Go," she said. "I have to ask the professor something." She turned back to the door.

"Hermione?" Ron started.

"Go," she repeated, throwing them one last look as she stepped through the door. She saw Harry shrug and motion for Ron to follow him.

Hermione reentered the room, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. She watched him continue to mark papers, continue to ignore her. None of it made sense to her and she felt the unfamiliar sensation flow through her, bringing her perilously close to tears. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling to ward them off; she would not cry in front of him.

"Did you not hear me, Miss Granger?" he asked sarcastically. "You are dismissed."

Something in her snapped; she dropped her bag on the table beside her and began walking up the aisle to the professor's desk, taking out her wand and throwing wards and silencing charms over her shoulder at the door as she walked. The professor looked up as he felt her charms go up, an almost worried look crossing his features. She stopped in front of his desk and stared at him. After a moment, he leaned back in his chair and leveled a cold, inquisitive look her way.

"This is not fair," she said before she could stop herself.

"Do not whinge," he replied threateningly.

"I am not whinging." She sighed in frustration. "But why are you doing this? What have I done to deserve it?"

"I find myself no longer in need of your assistance," he responded dismissively, reaching again for his quill.

"Oh, bullocks!" she shot back; moving his quill out of his reach with a flick of her wand, hearing it hit the floor with a crack. His black eyes looked up at her menacingly.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for such unladylike behavior."

"You can take one hundred points if it would please you," she retorted, placing her palms flat on his desk and leaning down to him. "But I am not leaving here without an explanation."

He stood up suddenly and moved out from behind his desk. She stood her ground, unmoving as he advanced on her. His bottomless black eyes were filled with more emotions than she could decipher, but she thought she could clearly see anger, frustration and loathing there.

"I do not have to explain myself to a student, Miss Granger. Now, you will desist from this insolence at once before you find yourself spending every evening in detention with Mr. Filch for the remainder of term." She could see him breathing heavily, trying to control his reactions and she wondered when he had begun to falter at hiding his emotions.

"You are being unnecessarily cruel," she said, sounding pathetic to her own ears. "You think I don't know why you're doing this? You think it's not blatantly obvious?" Her voice rose perilously close to shouting at the end.

_Of course, it's obvious, _he thought with a mental snort; his intentions and actions had been nauseatingly obvious from the start.

"Careful, Granger," he growled, dark eyes narrowing.

"You're only doing this because you can't reconcile your feelings for me." She rushed it out before he could tell her to get out again. "You're so afraid of what you're feeling that -"

"Are you calling me a coward?" he asked dangerously. She bit back the affirmation she was preparing to shoot at him, something in her gut telling her to back down from that line of argument.

"No," she sighed. "The notion of you being a coward is laughable to say the least."

"Are you mocking me?" he snarled, black eyes dissecting her.

"No!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. "Why would I mock you? Arrgh!" she cried, pushing her fingers through her curls and turning away from him.

Severus didn't know what to do; he didn't know what to think, how to react to the witch in front of him. And his feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty were causing him to lash out at her, were fueling his anger at himself for his weakness. He watched her pull at those thick curls, watched the muscles of her back work under her white blouse as her hands moved through her hair. Why did his erection throb more painfully when she was in a snit? That was as sure a sign of madness as anything, he thought. He saw her take a deep breath and turn back around, those wide amber eyes finding his immediately.

"I thought we had resolved this," she said quietly. "You said we couldn't and I accepted that -"

"Oh, yes, Miss Granger. I see how well you've accepted it," he growled, turning away from her, his own fingers going to his straight black locks.

She chose to ignore that. "And yet you insist on punishing me for something that is not my fault," she finished, biting her lower lip as she watched him pace like a caged panther.

"Not your fault?" he hissed, turning to face her, his eyes immediately going to the trapped lip. "It's not your fault the way you continuously torment me with that lip of yours?" He advanced on her, forcing her to back up against one of the worktables.

"Not your fault, the way your curls fly around your head as though they have a life of their own, making me think of nothing but tangling my hands in them?" He stopped in front of her, hot breath fanning her face as he tried to control his emotions. His eyes drifted down her body, tilting his head as he watched her chest heave under her own heavy breathing. She followed his gaze and felt his fingers under her chin, forcing her eyes up to his face.

"Not your fault," he said, dragging his thumb across her lower lip, nostrils flaring when her moist lips parted for it. "That when you walk, your hips sway in such a manner that I feel certain my cock will break in half if I am forced to watch it any longer?"

Hermione felt her brain veritably shut down at his words and she involuntarily nipped at the pad of his thumb, still at her mouth. He snarled and his other hand came up to grip her face; the hand at her mouth dragging to cup the other cheek as he leaned into her, his control slipping away.

"Severus!" the hoarse shout came from behind the professor's office door, startling him to a halt. "Severus!"

He looked at the witch's face, still in his hands, her eyes wide and looking sideways to the door. He abruptly released her, turned and went to his office; deliberately re-erecting the wards as he went through, strangely satisfied by the enraged scream he heard behind him as he passed.

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><p><strong>AN This chapter will be told in three parts, hence the length... or lack thereof :)**


	15. Fangs, Part II

**A/N Given the wonderful and encouraging response, I decided to make it just two parts rather than three :) **

**Hope you like!  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 15: Fangs, Part II<strong>

Severus moved through his office and into his private chambers where he found the headmaster half sprawled on the sofa, having collapsed after coming through the Floo it seemed. Severus rounded his sofa to face him. He was not bleeding as far as Snape could tell but his face was pinched in acute agony. He used his wand to levitate the old wizard into a more comfortable position and saw the source of the headmaster's pain come into view. The old wizard was clutching his left hand, which had gone rigid and exhibited a worrying, gangrenous color. As Severus bent to examine it more closely, he saw the large, black stone capped ring on the middle finger of his hand. His dark eyes shot to Dumbledore's blue ones, the unasked question hovering between them. The old wizard gave a small nod to his head and Severus bit out an expletive. The potions master sliced open Dumbledore's long sleeve to expose the extent of the curse before casting a series of stasis charms on the hand, trying to stop the flow of poison from reaching the wizard's heart, before getting to his feet and rushing to his private stores for potions.

He returned to the room and propped the wizard's head up as he tipped a series of strong potions down his throat; Replenishers, Ante-venins, and a freezing potion to target and stop the flow of the curse. That done, he laid the headmaster back down and turned his attention to removing the ring.

"Careful, Severus," Dumbledore croaked. "It's cursed."

"Is it now?" the potions master drawled sarcastically, magically lifting the headmaster's hand and studying the ring. "Foolish old man," he growled, shaking his head.

Suddenly, he heard a sound behind him and stood, whipping around to face the door with his wand raised. Miss Granger stood in his doorway, to his _private chambers,_ her own wand leveled. His eyes opened wide as he stared at her; _how did she manage that?_ the voice asked, as Severus found himself unwillingly impressed that she had broken through his wards.

"What do you think you are doing?" he barked, wand still raised. "Leave now!"

She ignored him; the picture of insolence as she stepped into the room, eyes widening as she saw the headmaster on the sofa. "Professor Dumbledore!" she exclaimed, rushing forward, wand lowered. "What happened?"

"This is no place for children, Miss Granger," the potions master snarled. "Now, you will –"

"Severus…" the headmaster pleaded; the raw pain still in his voice.

Snape hissed at the girl before turning his attention back to Albus' hand, lifting it again as he studied it. Hermione stood quietly over his shoulder; watching as he cast a series of diagnostic spells on the odd-looking ring, muttering under his breath as he did so.

"You could remove the finger," she said a few moments later when Dumbledore had sucked in a great gasp of pain.

Severus looked over his shoulder at the witch; she was not crying or wringing her hands or behaving in any way like a teenage girl thrust in the middle of a crisis would. She appeared composed and level-headed as she clinically studied the ring from her position over his shoulder. He couldn't say why, but he was rather unsettled by it.

"It's not his wand hand," she continued. The potions master just looked at her incredulously. "… I mean, unless you think you can heal it. Would you like me to fetch Madam Pomfrey?"

"No," he said, turning back to Dumbledore who was looking at Granger with a slightly proud look on his face.

"She's right, Severus," he said. "You know she is. It's only a finger." He gasped as another bolt of pain shot up his arm. "I am sure I will manage without it."

The potions master only hesitated for a moment, seeing the resolve in the old wizard's eyes. He gave a firm nod and flicked his wand towards his personal lab, a series of bottles flying through the room towards him. He shifted on the ground to catch them before he saw the girl move around him and capture each bottle as it came soaring towards them. She stacked the bottles on the side table next to him and magically lifted his coffee table closer to the sofa so he could stabilize the headmaster's arm on it.

"Steady his arm," Severus instructed her. "Magically. Do not touch it," he added with a tone of warning.

She did as he bade her and he magically separated the wizard's fingers and poured more Freezing potion on the hand to numb it and lock the fingers in place.

"The green bottle," he said to the girl. "Prepare to pour it on the wound when I sever the finger."

From the corner of his eye, he saw her grab the bottle with her non-wand hand, uncork it with her teeth and hold it poised over the hand. Severus narrowed his eyes and said the spell; watching as a bright red, laser-like light was emitted from his wand and with careful, but sure movements, he severed the finger and watched it fall into the cloth he was holding in his other hand. The girl immediately began pouring the potion onto the bleeding wound, which instantly began to cauterize. Severus carefully placed the cloth on the side table and began mending the wound.

She had emptied the bottle over the headmaster's hand, watching the relief come over his lined face as she did so. The professor brushed her away as he began healing the open wound. Hermione moved around him and looked at the cloth on the table, using her wand to open the folds and see what it held. She ignored the blackish/green finger as best she could and focused on the ring.

It appeared to be exceedingly old; a burnished, etched yellow gold, with markings dissecting its triangular band. The stone, however, was a brilliant, shining diamond-shaped onyx; it looked as though it had been placed in the setting yesterday. The black glittered with thousands of smaller specks; shimmering as though it housed within it a million spinning galaxies, and she felt a strange desire to try it on.

"I had no idea you had such a morbid sense of curiosity," the professor drawled from his spot at the headmaster's side.

"It's a Horcrux, isn't it?" she replied.

The potions master whipped his head around to look at her, his disbelieving eyes wide in his face, as the headmaster chuckled slightly.

"I told you Harry could not resist telling them," Dumbledore rasped. "Yes, Miss Granger, it is a Horcrux and as such you must stay away from it until we can destroy it."

"The basilisk fang," Hermione said, looking to the door.

Severus' eyes grew even wider in his head. _How much does the witch know?_ he thought in exasperation.

"Headmaster," she said turning back to the wizards. "Headmaster?" she exclaimed.

Severus turned his gaze back to Albus and saw that the old wizard had lost consciousness and the gangrenous color was spreading further up the arm.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "I thought you fixed it."

"The curse is spreading," the professor said, abandoning his wand and pouring a thick golden potion into the headmaster's mouth, massaging his throat to induce swallowing and chanting sporadically in a low voice.

"Shall I fetch Madam Pomfrey?" she asked again.

"I'm afraid this is far beyond her training, Miss Granger."

"Do you need me?" she asked, her eyes still fixed on the ring.

"I beg your pardon," he said, pausing in his incantations as he turned to look at her standing at his side. Her face turned away from the ring, resolute eyes finding his.

"Do you need my assistance?" she repeated with a slightly exasperated sigh.

"Of course not," he sneered in an ugly tone.

She looked at him a moment longer, an unreadable expression on her face before turning and leaving the room the way she had come.

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><p>Hermione rushed out of the dungeons and up to Gryffindor tower in search of the boys, unmindful of students as she rushed through the halls at breakneck speeds. She shouted the password at the Fat Lady, ignoring the portrait as it grumbled about how rude she was and pounded up to the common room, frantically scanning it for them.<p>

"Have you seen Harry?" she inadvertently shouted at Ginny and Neville. They looked up from their chess game in alarm.

"No, why?" Ginny said, brows furrowing in worry. "Is everything alright?"

"Where did you last see them?" She asked, ignoring the redhead's question.

"At lunch."

"Fuck," Hermione bit out. Neville's eyes widened at her curse.

"Maybe they're on the pitch," he suggested.

She saw Seamus come down from the boy's dormitory.

"Seamus!" she called. "Have you seen Harry? Or Ron?"

"No," he replied as he stepped into the room.

"I thought they were going to do some Quidditch runs," Dean supplied, coming down behind him.

"Thanks," she called behind her as she turned and ran back out of the tower.

She retraced her steps, sprinting back down to the main floor, launching herself out the side door and running towards the Quidditch pitch. She saw the boys walking towards the field, brooms in hand; chatting about something.

"Harry!" she called, not breaking her run.

He turned to her, his expression shifting to one of concern as he broke into a jog to meet her, Ron bringing up the rear. She came to a stop in front of him, gripping his forearms to steady herself and gasping for breath.

"What is it?" he asked, dropping his broom as her steadied her.

"The headmaster!" she gasped. "Cursed. There was a curse." She waved her hand in front of her face. "Not important. The ring!"

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Harry asked, shaking his head. "Slow down. Start over."

She took a few deep, steadying breaths and looked back up at the boys. "The headmaster found a ring, which cursed him. He's in Professor Snape's quarters. The ring is a Horcrux," she finished.

"We have to get into the Chamber of Secrets," she continued. "We have to find a Basilisk fang and destroy the ring."

"Ok," Harry said, nodding as he caught up with her thinking. "Ok, let's go."

He moved past her, dragging her by the hand as he headed back to the castle. Ron picked up Harry's broom and sent them up to the tower as he followed the pair into the school.

The trio quickly made their way up to the second floor girl's bathroom, ducking into the room before anyone had a chance to spot them. Entering the little-used lavatory quietly so as not alert Moaning Myrtle to their presence, they advanced on the snake engraved tap at the sinks. Hermione motioned Harry to the tap as Ron kept a check on the door.

Harry approached the intertwined snakes on the tap and gave a low hiss; the snakes shimmered briefly before undulating in response and twining tighter together. They each gave a low hiss in return as they loosened and the trio stepped back as the room was filled with the sound of the sinks coming apart and rearranging. The bolts and taps moved and locked into place as the entry passage came into view in the middle of the floor.

Hermione and Ron followed Harry's jump into the passageway, remarkably quiet as they slipped and slid their way down the pipes. They landed in a heap at the bottom as Harry stood apart from them.

"Ew," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose as Ron helped her to her feet. "Disgusting," she added looking down at the scales and bones that had softened their landing.

"Come on," Harry urged, motioning for them to follow.

They turned and made their way through the dark tunnel, bracing their hands on the cold walls as they felt it turn to a descending angle as they walked. The walls were covered in more serpentine engravings; snakes rearing back with fangs exposed, slithering up and down the walls, entwined in each other like lovers. Suddenly, one of the snakes launched itself off the wall at Hermione's hand as it passed beneath it, coming close to sinking its fangs into her had Ron not snatched her hand from the wall.

"Thanks," she breathed, clutching her hands to her chest. Harry looked at her worriedly.

"Maybe Hermione should stay in the middle," he said, waiting for them to come abreast with him and planting himself on Hermione's right as Ron took her left. She kept her hands close to her body as she continued walking.

"You think they're charmed to attack muggleborns?" she whispered.

"Maybe," Harry responded, keeping his eyes on the walls.

They continued walking in silence until the tunnel ended at a large, round vault. The door was rusted badly and featured six snake heads fanned out in a circle. Harry stepped up to the door and repeated the hissing sound he had previously made. A seventh snake emerged from the hinge of the vault and circled its companions, each waking and extending itself as the snake passed it. The trio heard the locks falling into place as the snake completed its circuit, the hinges squeaking as the vault opened.

They stepped through and into the wide chamber; Harry walked down the long aisle to the pool at the head of the room as Ron and Hermione slowly followed, heads turning from side to side as they took in the room. The marble aisle they were walking down was lined in large snake heads, mouths open with their fangs bared, but thankfully, they seemed stationary enough; though Ron kept close to Hermione, both of their wands raised. They caught up with Harry at the head of the room, taking in the massive wizard bust over the pool.

"Salazar Slytherin," he commented as they stared at the enormous head. "Look around for the fangs."

They began poking through the chamber looking for the basilisk fangs; peering around nooks and crannies, into the pools scattered around the chamber, behind the snake heads. There were no fangs anywhere and Hermione began to seriously worry whether they would find any.

"Maybe we should look in the statue of Slytherin," Harry said, gazing up at the haughty looking edifice.

"Why?" Ron asked.

"That's where the basilisk came from." He shrugged. "Maybe there are some in there."

Without waiting for further comment from them, Harry stepped into the pool.

"Harry! NO!" Hermione exclaimed rushing to him. He stopped with one leg in and turned to her; she halted and watched, her heart hammering.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, I guess," she said, her shoulders relaxing. "I thought there might be wards or curses in place."

Just to be sure, she cast a series of revealing spells across the pool and statue, looking for unfriendly spells. Harry held his position until she was done and when she shrugged her shoulders at him; he lowered his other leg into the pool and made his way to the mouth of the statue. Standing before it, he hissed in Parseltongue again and they watched the statue's mouth open wide for him. Ron and Hermione waited as Harry climbed into the mouth and poked around. He disappeared from view for several minutes as he probed further into it.

"Find anything?" Ron called after a few moments. Harry reappeared in the mouth, bits of snake scale clinging to his shirt and shook his head. Hermione let out a snarl of frustration.

"Maybe we should look in the adjacent tunnels," she said, pointing to the openings on the side of the chamber.

Harry shrugged again and climbed out of the mouth, waded across the pool and climbed up to join them. They made their way to the openings, stopping before the two entrances.

"Ron, take the right one. Hermione and I will go this way," he said, pulling Hermione along with him. "Keep your wand up," he called behind him.

Hermione followed Harry into the tunnel, staying to his side and casting a quick drying spell on his clothes as they walked. There were more snakes etched into the side of the tunnel and they seemed to have much more animosity towards Hermione than the previous ones had. She kept ducking down and to the side, avoiding their strikes. Before long, the tunnel started narrowing, bringing Hermione dangerously close to the snakes.

"You should have stayed outside," Harry commented, pulling her to him as a snake lunged at her.

"You think?" she retorted.

"Come on. Let's go back," he said, pulling her back through the tunnel.

Suddenly, another vault shimmered into view on his left side. He stopped, pulling Hermione behind him as he looked at it. The snake on the vault came to life, undulating and hissing.

"Headmaster?" Harry murmured.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"The snake is saying 'to the headmaster'."

"Hmm," she said, cocking her head. "Maybe this vault leads to Professor Dumbledore's office." She shrugged and ducked suddenly, pressing her face against Harry's back as another snake snapped at her.

"Come on," he said, moving again and pulling her through the tunnel. They emerged back into the chamber and turned to the passageway Ron had gone through.

"Right," Harry said, turning to her. "You stay here, I'll go in and fetch -" He cut off as she pointed behind him. They turned to see Ron coming out of the entrance, carrying a long basilisk fang in his hand, a wide grin stretching his face.

"Excellent. Let's go," Harry said, turning back to the main aisle.

"Harry?" Hermione called. "Why don't we take that vault? It might be quicker than going all the way back the way we came."

He nodded and moved towards the tunnel, keeping Hermione flush against his side and nodding to Ron to take up position on her other side as they made their way through the tunnel. This time around, the narrowness became pronounced much more quickly - as though some sort of defensive spell were in play - and long before they reached the vault, it had become too narrow to traverse three to a row. Harry took the front while Ron and Hermione remained side-by-side as they kept pushing forward.

Reaching the vault, Hermione remained behind the boys as Harry spoke to the door. The hinges squeaked loudly as it opened, startling all the engraved snakes to life, the tunnel erupting in a chorus of hisses. Harry turned to grab Hermione, pulling her to him with one hand as he used the other to shove Ron through the opening.

The trio stumbled through the opening and into a corner of Professor Dumbledore's study. Harry and Ron's heads whipped around as they heard Hermione scream. Rushing to her side, they saw her gripping her right shoulder.

"Did one bite you?" Harry asked, eyes wide in alarm. She nodded her head, her eyes already looking a bit glassy.

"It's fine," she said, shaking her head and moving into Dumbledore's main office. "Professor Snape will fix it."

The boys watched her climb the small set of steps to the room, gripping the railing with her left hand, her footsteps faltering a bit. They followed her quickly and moved through the room to the fireplace.

"Floo," she said softly, face growing paler by the second.

Harry gripped her hand and pulled her into the fireplace with him. He nodded at Ron to follow, grabbed some powder and tossed it to the ground.

"Professor Snape's Quarters," he said loudly.


	16. Professor Snape's Quarters

**A/N I am humbled and thankful of all your kind words and support. I may not get to reply to each review, but they are all read and very much appreciated.**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 16: Professor Snape's Quarters<strong>

Severus was studying the ring, laid out on the coffee table between his armchair and where the headmaster lay quietly on the sofa, when his fireplace roared to life. He watched, eyebrows arched, as Potter and the Granger girl entered his quarters. _Will her violation of me never cease?_ he thought to himself as he stood to intercept them. The redhead came through a moment later, carting something close to his chest.

"Miss Granger, you are not free to enter any room you please, despite your apparent talent at breaking wards," he growled as he moved closer to the trio. He noticed the girl favoring her right shoulder, where a distinct redness was blooming.

She did not even spare him a glance as she moved towards the sofa, supported by Potter's arm around her. "Professor Dumbledore?" she asked, approaching the old wizard. He looked up at her, bright blue eyes concerned.

"Are you alright, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Professor Dumbledore, we have the Basilisk fang. It will destroy the Horcrux, right?"

"You found one?" the headmaster asked, raising himself. "Hagrid removed them all when he discarded the basilisk corpse."

"We found one in the side tunnel," Weasley supplied, holding up the fang for all to see.

Potter sat Granger in the armchair Severus had just vacated. He saw her face growing paler by the minute as the blood darkened her shirt.

"You were in the Chamber of Secrets?" Severus demanded, pushing Potter out of the way so he could examine the girl. She backed into the chair as his hand went to her shoulder and he stopped. Her glassy amber eyes met his black ones and a look passed between them; his frankly apologetic while hers was an expression of tentative trust as she offered her shoulder back to him.

"If we stab the ring with the fang, it will be destroyed, right?" she asked the headmaster as the boys leaned over the coffee table to look at the ring while Professor Snape pulled at her shirt.

"That is the theory," he replied. "Yes, but Harry must be the one to do it. It must be Harry."

With a nod, Weasley handed the fang to Potter who promptly gripped it like a sword and raised it high over his head.

"Wait!" the witch under Severus' hands cried out, her fingers stopping from where they had been unbuttoning her shirt to prevent him from ripping it. The boys stopped and looked at her. She took her wand out, pointed it at the table and levitated both it and the ring away from them to the other side of the room while Snape silently berated himself for not thinking of it.

Potter followed it across the room, fang still raised. He stopped in front of it, reared the fang back and, without hesitation, brought it down on the ring. A loud, shrill scream whipped around the room like a curse from hell and they all covered their ears as the harsh sound assaulted them. An enormous cloud of dense black smoke erupted from the ring; reaching out, enveloping Potter as it swept through the room. Finally, another shorter shriek was heard as the smoke was sucked back towards the ring before dissipating into faint wisps of nothing.

"Harry?" Granger asked tentatively. Potter stood stock still, fang held limply in one hand, staring at the ring. "Harry?" she asked again.

He turned around to face the room, eyes unfocused as though he were in a trance. Weasley and Granger seemed familiar with it and did not move while Severus and the headmaster watched the boy. Finally, he sighed and dropped the fang on the coffee table with a clang.

"I thought maybe he would feel it," Potter explained. "But if he did, I couldn't sense it." He gestured to his scar.

The Headmaster seemed disappointed by this; but Severus ignored them all and returned his attention to the girl. He caught her trying to mask a twitch that was emerging in her neck.

Losing patience, he crouched next to her and ripped her shirt open, pushing her unruly hair out of the way as he bared her shoulder. Two deep puncture wounds were visible in the slim joint; she remained quiet under his hands as he fetched Antivenin, Blood Replenisher and Fortifying potions. He tipped a full vial of each into her mouth, ensuring that she swallowed as she started trembling violently. He pulled her from the armchair and laid her down on the ground, flat on her back as she broke into convulsions.

"What's happening?" Potter asked as both he and the redhead hovered worriedly over the professor's shoulder.

"The venom. It's reached her nerves," he snapped, as he used his wand to siphon venom out of her wounds; hoping the potions would take effect, cringing as she screamed in pain. "I know. I know," he whispered to her in reassurance.

He spent five minutes siphoning the venom out as the potion worked its way through her. Finally, the tremors subsided, along with her cries, but she remained rigid; breathing in short shallow breaths. He checked the wound for any remaining poison; satisfied that none remained, he closed it and gave her more Replenisher and Fortifying potions in addition to one for pain. He sat back on his haunches as her breathing steadied, wiping the sweat from his brow, eyes still on her. Her amber eyes turned to him and she gave a small smile.

"Thank you," she whispered. He merely grunted at that.

"Will she be alright?" Weasley asked.

"The venom acted nearly like a Cruciatus, burning her nerve endings as it went through her. I believe I have siphoned it out. She will be fine."

"Wonderful," the headmaster croaked. "Job well done," he added, blue eyes twinkling damnably.

At that, they all heard a faint sizzling sound coming from the other side of the room. Turning to face the table; they saw the fang sizzling slightly, trembling on the tabletop. It seemed to reach a peak before dissolving completely into a small mound of powder.

"Ahh, yes," the headmaster said with a slight frown. "I was afraid of that."

"Professor Dumbledore," Potter said. "What's going on?"

"Is that a finger?" Weasley exclaimed, pointing at the side table.

"Perhaps everyone should sit," Albus said with a small smile.

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><p>Harry helped himself, brazenly pulling two chairs from Severus' dining table and sitting in one while the redhead took the other, both returning their gazes to Granger. She sat up carefully, seeming to have recovered rather quickly. Severus was left to assist her, trying to seat her in the armchair, but she waved him off and sat on the floor leaning against the side of the armchair instead. Grumbling about ungrateful Gryffindors, he left her on the floor and took the chair himself.<p>

"Well," Dumbledore began. "You all know that the ring was a Horcrux and it seems my theory about the diary was correct as well so it seems we have destroyed two of them."

"What happened to you?" Harry interrupted.

"Oh, this." Albus gestured to his hand. "You know what muggles say. 'Curiosity killed the cat.'"

"You put the ring on?" Harry asked incredulously. "Even though you thought it was a Horcrux? Why would you do such a thing?"

"Even old wizards like myself make errors, Harry," the headmaster replied. Hermione noted that Harry looked thoroughly unnerved by this confession.

"So… Professor Snape severed your finger to try and save you?" he asked, looking to the appendage as Ron turned greener by the minute.

"Precisely. If not for Severus' and Miss Granger's quick thinking and even quicker actions, I might not be here."

Harry nodded slightly, his head turning towards Hermione and Severus saw an odd expression in the boy's eyes as though he were processing the information for future deliberation.

"Well done with the fang, Harry," Dumbledore continued. "I hadn't told you my theory on that yet since I was under the impression Hagrid had removed them all."

"It was Hermione's idea," he replied distractedly, turning his eyes from the witch and back to the headmaster. "I know you asked me not to tell anyone, headmaster, and I'm sorry –"

"Don't be, Harry. Don't be sorry. We all do what we feel we must. Besides, your friends have proven themselves more than capable of handling the information." The old wizard inclined his head towards Hermione and Ron.

"What about the fang?" the witch piped up from her place on the floor. "What happened?"

"I believe," Dumbledore began, "that the fang only works against the Horcrux once before being rendered useless. I believe the dark magic of the Horcrux is too strong for it to survive more than one usage."

"Do you know if Hagrid might have kept any of the fangs he found?" Harry asked, already sensing the answer.

"No, he did not," the headmaster replied, shaking his head sadly. "Of all the things that boy keeps stowed away in his hut. He did not think to keep a few extra basilisk fangs."

Severus turned his black eyes to the witch, having tuned them out, and wondered what he was going to do with her. He saw that her eyes had closed, her head leaning against the side of his chair and wondered if she had fallen asleep sitting up. He turned to face the others.

"Well," he drawled, "now that everyone is caught up on everything. The headmaster needs to rest; as does Miss Granger. Potter, I suggest you return her to her chambers and insist that she rest for the remainder of the weekend."

The boy nodded as he stood and approached the girl. Severus stood as well and was bending to help the witch up, but the boy gave him an odd look so the professor just straightened his posture as he stood to his full height. Harry bent down and lifted the girl easily into his arms.

"Careful with her shoulder," the professor bit out through clenched teeth. The boy nodded and beckoned Weasley to follow. The professor flicked his wand at the girl and she shivered slightly as a disillusionment charm came over her, rendering her invisible in Potter's arms. He looked down and then back to the professor inquisitively.

"It will fade in ten minutes, Potter. I suggest you move quickly," he snapped. The boys squared their shoulders; bid the headmaster goodbye and wished him well as they left the room.


	17. Alcoves

**Chapter 17: Alcoves**

Hermione remained in the tower for the rest of the weekend; only venturing so far as the common room when the boys refused to come to her chambers. When they did come to her room; the discussion invariably centered on the Horcrux hunt and how to proceed with it. The headmaster was firmly ensconced in his chambers, Professor McGonagall had made the announcement at supper on Friday night, and so Harry had not had a chance to discuss the origins of the ring or what the headmaster planned to do next.

By Sunday, Hermione was so stir crazy that she pounced on Samuel's idea of taking a walk on Hogwarts' grounds. Bundling up in her cloak against the April chill, she and Samuel set off for a walk about the lake.

"You've been MIA this weekend." He commented as they walked.

"Ya, I know." She replied evasively. "I've been revising in my room a lot. NEWTs have got me quite knackered."

"I love your British phrases." He chuckled. "_Knackered_."

"I'm glad I amuse you so."

"I had fun at dinner the other night." He suddenly said with a sideways glance to her, taking her hand in his. "We should do it again." She looked back at him with a hesitant smile on her face.

She didn't know what to do. Here was a nice, charming wizard; sweet, smart, uncomplicated. _But is that what you want?_ She thought critically. Isn't part of the appeal of the professor that he's mysterious, complex... unattainable? _Surely, my reasoning isn't so shallow... _she argued internally, _besides, I've known these qualities about him for years and I never had these feelings._ Maybe his touch, his kiss was the catalyst needed to awaken them, she reasoned, maybe they've been lying dormant for years and he brought them to the surface. _It does not matter, _her mind argued, _the professor is unwilling. When we're alone, he seems unable to help himself, producing... enjoyable results, _she smirked wickedly, _but then he backtracks and either will not acknowledge it or refuses to indulge it further. You don't want that sort of emotional ... warfare. _She looked at Samuel from the corner of her eye; he's so uncomplicated, she thought, the perfect first _real _boyfriend. He treats her well, he's smart and interesting... kissing him certainly wasn't _un_pleasant... but something inside her still compelled her to hedge, to not give Samuel definitive answers.

He was ogling her again, Severus thought as he watched the witch and wizard slowly circling the Great Lake, hand in hand, from his place at a library window. He did not know why he had ventured to the library, usually opting to spend his weekends in his chambers away from the dunderheaded students and bothersome faculty members. But he had ventured out that day to check in on Dumbledore and afterwards, found his feet leading him to the third floor and ultimately to the library. He had roamed the stacks absentmindedly, _not searching for the girl_, he told himself unconvincingly. Finally, he had taken down a few books from the Restricted Section and sat at one of the tables by the large windows. Movement from the ground below caught his eye and he turned to see Granger and the American approaching the lake and turning to circle it. The indefinable, and thoroughly unsettling, sensations he was growing accustomed to assaulted him as he saw the girl lean into the wizard when a gust of wind shot across the lake. The wizard threw his head back and laughed; opening his cloak to the girl, who promptly burrowed herself in his side as they continued to walk. Was he jealous of the wizard? Severus thought, fingering the yellowed pages of the text before him. _Of course, you're jealous, _the voice exclaimed. But certainly he didn't desire being the one she burrowed into in such a way; he had no desire to stroll around a lake with her. _Don't you?_ The voice questioned skeptically. It was just physical; Severus insisted to himself, his desire for her was physical and nothing more. He could practically hear the voice in his head scoff at that, not even bothering to formulate a response.

He was kidding himself, he thought as he saw the pair stop at the lake's edge; the girl gesturing wildly, hair flying manically about her face, as she spoke heatedly with the wizard who gazed at her with an amused look. Severus wanted that, he admitted to himself begrudgingly; he wanted to be at her side, listening to whatever she was going on about so passionately. Suddenly, he saw the wizard's hands fly to the girl's face; cupping it in his palms, he leaned in and kissed her firmly on the mouth. Severus felt his gut nearly somersault with nausea as he watched the girl's hands freeze in their gestures when the wizard kissed her. _Push him away, _Severus thought a little desperately, _push him away. _But the witch didn't; she accepted the kiss and Severus' gut rolled over again when he saw her small hands go to the wizard's wrists as she stepped in closer to him. The wizard's response to that was the same that Severus' had been; he thought wryly, as the American wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her closer as the other hand tilted her head to the side to deepen the kiss.

Severus shot up from his seat and, without bothering to banish the books to their rightful place, turned and stalked out of the library. He would end this, he thought, he would end this torment as soon as possible.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, Hermione walked leisurely to the fourth floor entrance of the library, opting to bypass the main third floor entrance for the lesser used one. As she walked, she found herself contemplating how much things had changed for her that term. Between the events of Christmas, things with her professor and with Samuel, in addition to Harry's latest issues with Voldemort; she found herself with the odd sensation of floating loose and unanchored through her life, but oddly, the feeling did not worry her as much as it probably should have. She found herself unable to tolerate more than the most basic emotions these days. She thought she was grieving her parents properly; she still suffered insomnia on some nights when memories kept her up though she had stopped taking Dreamless Sleep weeks ago. But for the most part, she pushed thoughts of her parents out of her mind; focusing instead on school, Harry's mission, her unresolved issues with the professor... though these days, she found herself shying away from thinking too long on her professor and the feelings she may or may not be experiencing for him.<p>

Suddenly, as though her thoughts had conjured him; she felt a hand grip her arm roughly and pull her from the corridor into a side hall. The professor didn't look at her as he pulled her further down the deserted hallway and pushed her into a dark alcove, wandlessly throwing up silencing charms behind him. He pressed her against the wall; his hands on her upper arms, face inches from hers. She looked up into his obsidian eyes, trying to reign in her breathing as her heart pounded wildly in her chest.

"You do like your Slytherins, don't you?" he asked in a low whisper, his hot breath fanning the curls from her face. "Even fake ones." He added as he dragged the tip of his nose across her cheek to her ear.

She remained quiet; not responding to his words, but felt herself unconsciously leaning into his body. His lips sealed themselves over the delicate skin beneath her ear; tasting, sucking, drawing a ragged moan from her. His hands released her arms and traveled down to her hips; curling around her thighs under her bottom and squeezing her to him, pressing his arousal into her abdomen. She leaned her head back; opening her neck to his ministrations, not even contemplating pushing him away. Her body seemed to have a life of its own and was no longer consulting her head. A small, clouded part of her mind nudged her to think of Samuel, but it was quickly swallowed up in this haze of emotions the professor seemed to effortlessly arouse in her.

"Hmm.. no, it did not take you long to recover from my rejection." Severus said as nudged her chin higher with his nose, trailing his kisses down her collarbone, ignoring how her body seemed to freeze at his words. "Jumped right into another wizard's arms like a common trollop."

She pushed him away roughly and he saw her hand rear back as though to slap him; he did not move to stop it. At the last second, she lowered her arm instead; her large amber eyes filling with tears as she trembled with a flurry of emotions he did not even try to name. Her eyes shot him an accusatory glare before she turned away from him without a word, heading for the hallway. He gripped her arm and pushed her back against the wall. She shoved at him again and he caught her hands and trapped them on the wall on either side of her head.

"Forgive me," he said with a shake of his head, "forgive me."

"Let go." She struggled against him and he released her. She shoved his chest roughly, pushing him away from her. "What do you want from me?" she cried, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks.

"I should think it was plainly obvious what I want, Miss Granger." He replied in a low tone, stepping back in her space as she backed into the wall. He brought his hand up to her face, catching the warning look in her eyes and choosing to ignore it. He ever so lightly trailed the back of his knuckles against her cheek; his black eyes softening as he saw hers close while she leaned her cheek into his touch. "I did not mean to insult you. I am ... frustrated." He admitted in a low, halting whisper.

"As am I," she whispered back, turning her face into his palm and placing a kiss to it.

Her gentleness unnerved him; he gripped her chin firmly but not roughly and turned her face to his. Knowing his control was fairly non-existent at this point, he gave in. Keeping her face in one hand, he sealed his lips on hers in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. She immediately responded, her lips opening to him and returning his kiss passionately. He felt her hands at the waist of his coat as she pulled him closer to her. His other hand joined the first on the other side of her face and he tilted her head as he plunged his tongue into her mouth; tasting the sweet warmth of her, a groan pulled from his throat at the sensation. His arousal strained against its confines to be nearer to the witch and as though she knew as much she pulled his torso in closer, pressing her abdomen against his pelvis and moaning as she felt him grind it into her.

His hands abandoned her face, trailing down the front of her body; the left hand stopped to cup her breast through her shirt while the other kept moving down, pulling up her skirt hem and gripping at her bottom. His tongue kept exploring her mouth; dueling with hers as he gently squeezed her breast, fingers ghosting over her hard bud and he heard himself moan into her mouth again, merging with her own low moan. Her hands glided up his torso and around his neck, pulling him down and deepening the kiss even more until he felt he might absorb her into himself.

"Do you know what you do to me?" he whispered hotly against her lips.

Her tongue fluttered out and licked at him in response, pulling another moan from him as he pressed into her harder. His hand moved around her thigh, reveling in her hot soft skin, and cupped her through her knickers. She released his mouth with a gasped '_Yes_', fueling his desire higher. He whispered an incantation against her lips and she felt the cool air of the hallway hit her as her knickers vanished.

"Yesss." He growled roughly, snaking his fingers through her wet folds. She moaned deliciously against him, hips leaning into his hand invitingly. He stroked his index finger against her as she bucked her hips against him, his other hand fingering her through her shirt. He trailed hot, open mouthed kisses from her cleavage back up to her lips, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth and nibbling on it as he continued stroking her.

He could feel the heat of her body enveloping him, the intense arousal clouding his mind until all he was aware of was her; her breathing, her scent, the small mewls of pleasure she was making, the slight trembling of her legs as she undulated beneath his ministrations. Her hands gripped his face on either side as she hungrily devoured his mouth; and he knew a moment's clarity as he realized no witch had ever handled him so passionately before. Her sweet tongue swirled in his mouth and coaxed his own into hers; he obliged by plunging his tongue into her mouth again and she promptly closed her lips around it and sucked hungrily, an arousal so strong shooting through him he felt he might come in his trousers. His two fingers penetrated her instead and she released his tongue with a gasp, throwing her head back against the wall, growling as she bucked her hips roughly against his hand, forcing him deeper. He felt her clamp down around his digits as he curled them within her, stroking her pleasure points in firm circles. He moved his lips to her neck, kissing and sucking at her flesh as she strained against him; he could feel her orgasm building within her as she gasped, her small hands pulling mindlessly at the fabric of his coat.

"Come for me, witch." He whispered hotly in her ear as his strokes built to a frenzy. She mewled against him, bucking; he brought his mouth to the soft skin just below her ear, licked at it in broad strokes and she crumbled in his arms. He swallowed her cries in his mouth, sealing his lips over hers as her release shot through her. Groaning at the feel of her, he ground his palm into her, feeling her gasp and clutch at him. He pulled out; gripped her leg in one hand, hooked it to his waist and ground his clothed arousal furiously into her, letting out a long hiss as he came quickly in his trousers. Her flushed face towards the ceiling, he doubted she even realized she had driven him to that.

He abruptly released her and backed away. Her hands went to the wall behind her, propping herself up as his support left her. He watched her; her eyes still closed, wild curls in disarray, a rosy blush suffusing her cheeks, her chest heaving under her still miraculously closed shirt as her breathing steadied and thought he had never seen anything so wonderful. After a few moments, her beautiful eyes opened and found his; a small devilish smile gracing her swollen berry lips and all he wanted to do was kiss her again, but he held his stance, unmoving, unthinking.

"So, you've changed your mind?" She inquired, smoothing down her skirt as she regained her footing.

"Pardon?" His mind was in tangles, he could not understand what was happening; how he had lost control so thoroughly.

"About us," she said, looking up at him, "you've changed your mind."

"I...," he turned uncomfortably, feeling the mess in his trousers. "I think not."

Her amber eyes flashed. "Excuse me?" she inquired in a low, angry hiss.

"This was a mistake." He replied, not looking at her as he silently cast a _Tergio_ on himself.

"A mistake?" she barked. "You've got to be joking. I... you've got to be joking." She could feel the tears brimming in her eyes but refused to cry in front of him.

"I am afraid not, Miss Granger." Her eyes closed at that, taking a deep breath, while something inside him jerked painfully. "I hope you can accept my apologies for this grave mistake. I assure you it will never happen again."

She opened her eyes; wet amber flashing as her nostrils flared in barely concealed rage. "Well, you are correct in that, _Professor_." She hissed angrily. "And congratulations on satisfying your pent-up curiosity." She shot at him, turning to the hallway.

His hand shot out and gripped her arm. "You ought to be thankful that at least _you_ have received satisfaction from this." He snarled nastily.

She turned to him with incredulous eyes and he felt certain she would slap him this time. But she didn't, instead an oddly cold expression came over her features.

"Perhaps I _ought_ to be thankful for your decision, Professor," she whispered darkly, "if you think something like _this_ would be enough to render me satisfied."

With that, she wrenched her arm from his grasp with a sneer and stalked away from him without a second glance.

* * *

><p>Hermione stalked through the halls of Hogwarts back to Gryffindor Tower; tears stinging behind her eyes, rage and indignation coursing through her veins. How dare he treat her like that? Did he have no decency whatsoever? How dare he - <em>what?<em>, the voice in her head interjected, _give you a soul shattering orgasm while taking no satisfaction for himself? _She slowed her walk, thinking; had the professor had an orgasm? Her mind was still clouded and hazy and she could not remember if he had taken any pleasure for himself.. What difference did it make? She thought angrily, picking up her pace and casting a hasty Tergio on herself. What he did was despicable and insulting and wrong. She was not a plaything for him to toy around with.

She would just have to stay away from him, she thought resolutely as she climbed the steps of the tower. When she stayed away from him, she was fine. That was it. The professor had been right all she along, though he had never said it in so many words. Avoidance was the best defense.

She felt the tears starting to spill over as she walked down the corridor to her room, having bypassed the common room as she usually did.

"Hermione?" She heard Samuel call from the other end of the corridor where his room was. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob, not sure whether she could handle anything more that day. She waited for him to reach her.

"Hermione?" He asked concern clear in his voice as he came up beside her, peering into her face. "What's wrong? What happened?"

She couldn't contain it anymore and started to cry; her hands came to her face as her shoulders shuddered. He turned her to him and enveloped her in his arms. That just made it worse and her crying came dangerously close to sobs.

"What happened?" he asked, alarmed. "Tell me. Has someone hurt you?"

She couldn't speak and just shook her head, her face buried in his chest as he rubbed her back comfortingly. They stood for awhile, saying nothing; he just held her as she cried, wondering what had happened to her, growing progressively more worried. Finally, she began to quiet, her tears subsiding to sniffles. She pulled away from him; eyes puffy, tear tracks staining her face. He raised his hand to wipe her tears away but she abruptly lowered her head out of his range. His eyebrows furrowed, wondering for the first time if he had done something wrong.

She turned away from him and opened her door and paused. "Do you want to come in?" she asked softly.


	18. Avoidance

**Chapter 18: Avoidance**

The only consolation, as far as Hermione was concerned, was that the incident had happened on a Sunday and as such, she could avoid the professor until Potions on Friday. And avoid him, she most certainly did. The only time she was in the same vicinity as him was during meals in the Great Hall; and even then, she deliberately avoided glancing at the high table, keeping her eyes on her friends and fairly ignoring everything else around her.

Samuel had proven himself to be spectacularly comforting, much more so than she would have thought. He had come to her room that night; trying at first to get her to tell him what was bothering her, although she hardly thought it appropriate to broach that topic with him. She had told no one of the goings-on with her professor and she was not about to make Samuel the first to know about it. After fifteen minutes of cajoling, he finally gave up; the witch would tell him if she wanted to and considering she had invited him in, clearly whatever it was wasn't his fault. So Samuel had stayed for a few hours; chatting about nothing and helping Hermione take her mind off of her troubles.

Severus missed nearly every meal in the Great Hall for the next three days; the self-loathing roiling through him almost more than he could bear. That he had treated the witch so cruelly; abandoning all self-control, all responsibility, all regard for the trust Albus had placed in him filled him with an acute shame that ate away at him relentlessly. He had done many unspeakable things in his capacity as a member of the Order, not to mention his position as a Deatheater; truth be told, many times his only feelings of self-worth came from the high morals he applied in his job. The witch was not the only student to have exhibited an attraction to him; other students in his charge had found something in his demeanor which had elicited similar interest. But he had always, _always_, rebuffed their advances; in fact, he had never even entertained the notion in the privacy of his own chambers, so thoroughly disgusted was he by the thought of abusing his position in such a capacity. Many of the witches had even approached him following their Leaving Feasts; but he had never been able to get the image of them in their school uniforms out of his head, with the result that nothing had ever transpired in that regard. And then here was this witch; this small, feisty, thoroughly vexatious Gryffindor who had come along and shattered his spotless twenty year track record of integrity.

He would avoid her, he thought resolutely, stealing a glance at the girl during lunch; he would avoid her completely until she left school. That was the only solution.

Tuesday rolled around and Hermione found herself frustrated by her solitude. Classes were over; Harry was at a meeting with Dumbledore and Ron was playing a pickup game with some classmates, leaving Hermione on her own. She was in her room, having avoided the library since the incident and she was bored out of her mind. She had completed her revisions and assignments and found herself trying desperately to avoid thinking about the professor. She had attacked any and all distractions to take her mind off of him, fearful that if she didn't, she would give into her desire to confront him about their situation. She vacillated between thinking avoidance was the best course of action and wishing to confront him on his behavior. She still felt the need to vent her anger and frustration to his face. So she ended up choosing distractions as a pathway to avoidance.

Samuel, she thought as she finished rearranging her bookshelves, she would go find Samuel. Perhaps they could take a walk around the grounds or something. She left her room, walked down the corridor and knocked on his door. Realizing he was not in, she then took a glance in the common room where he often favored her classmates with stories, games of chess or DADA practice. Peering into the room and not seeing any of the girls, it was instantly clear that he was not there either. Frowning in thought; Hermione left the tower and made her way to the DADA classroom, thinking to ask Remus if he knew Samuel's whereabouts.

She knocked on the door, pushing it open when she heard the 'enter' and found the werewolf seated at his desk, marking papers.

"Hermione." He said with a smile, beckoning her forward. "How nice to see you. Come in, come in."

"Hi, Remus." She said with an easy smile, walking up the aisle towards his desk, she stopped at one of the tables in front.

"How are you? Everything alright?"

She shrugged, "Can't complain."

He narrowed his eyes as he studied her face. "What can I do for you?"

"I was actually looking for Samuel." She said, settling herself into one of the desk seats.

"Ahh," he replied with a smile, relaxing his posture. "I'm afraid Ron convinced him to join their Quidditch game."

She raised her eyebrows with a sideways smile. "And here I thought Samuel was above such trivial pursuits." She said with mock disappointment.

"Oh, you know how boys are, Hermione." He chuckled. She nodded with a wry smile. "How are things getting on?"

"What things?" she asked with a small sigh.

"Everything. School, your friends.. everything." She shrugged again.

"It is what it is." She said softly. "Sometimes I can't wait to get out of here and other times, I'm terrified of the thought."

"Why?" his eyebrows crinkled.

She was quiet for a minute as he watched her organizing her thoughts, feeling a wave of sympathy and affection for the girl overtake him. She was a truly brilliant witch; brightest of her age, he was sure. But more than that; she was compassionate, brave, with a heart of gold. She didn't deserve what had happened to her and Remus was adamant that she not drown in her grief and solitude.

"It's safe here." She finally said her voice soft and hesitant. "It's... structured. I know where I stand. I know what I'm doing. When I leave... I'll have to start actually being an adult, making decisions, making a life for myself. I know I would have done that regardless, but at least before, I could rely on my parents. Their help, their advice... support. It just feels... it feels like when I leave, I will officially become.. unmoored. I will be floating away, connected to nothing..." She finished with a minute shake of her head.

He watched her for a second, eyes narrowed in disbelief. Did her friends know she felt this way? Had she told the boys of these fears? Had she told McGonagall or Dumbledore?

"Hermione." He said firmly. She turned her conflicted eyes up to him. "You are not alone. Do you understand me?"

She bit her lip and gave a small nod.

"No, listen to me." He stressed. "You are not alone. We are all here for you. Me, Tonks, the boys, Albus, Minerva, the Weasleys. All of us are here for you. Our support, our love for you will not vanish when you leave here. Just because you will no longer be a student doesn't mean that we won't go on caring for you. So long as you have us, you will _always_ have a home; you will _always_ have a family. None of that will change just because you've graduated. Do you understand me?"

She hadn't taken her eyes off his as he spoke. Her eyes seemed to bore into him; feeling him out, trying to see if she could trust in all of that. She was not used to being a burden to anyone. Harry had been an orphan his whole life; he had accepted the Weasley's pseudo-adoption of him, had accepted Remus stepping somewhat into the godfather role Sirius had vacated, it was all second nature to Harry. Hermione was different; she felt that they were an extended family of hers, but she had never relied on them or leaned on them or depended on them for anything. All of her major problems, issues, and advice had been her parents' to deal with.

"Do you mean that?" She finally asked quietly. He looked taken aback by her question.

"Of course, Hermione. Of course, I mean it. More than anything." He affirmed.

She nodded, tracing the ridges and scratches in the table under her fingertips. They were quiet for a spell; she looking down at the desk while he gazed at her, wondering if he should prod her further.

"Can I ask you something?" She inquired after some time.

"Anything."

"Did you know immediately? With Tonks? Did you know she was the one?" she looked up at him. He seemed thrown by her change in topic but quickly recovered, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk as he answered.

"Yes." He admitted. "I didn't want to admit at first, but I knew. The first time we kissed, I knew she was the one."

She nodded, seemingly disappointed by the answer. "And there were fireworks and such? When you're together," she asked delicately. "there are fireworks? The passion was there from the start?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and she bit her lip in consternation, wondering if she should have broached this topic with the werewolf. She idly wondered if he would scold her for bringing it up; tell her she was too young for such things.

"Yes, Hermione. There have always been... fireworks between us." He relented. "Why do you ask?" She shrugged eyes down on the table. "Is it about Samuel?"

She nodded, still not looking at him.

"He has behaved himself with you, hasn't he?" A warning growl emerged in the wolf's tone. She looked up at him.

"Oh, yes, Remus. Of course, he has. He's been a perfect gentleman." The werewolf relaxed visibly at her words, tilting his head at her. "It's just, when we kiss... it's not.. I don't know." She broke off shaking her head. "I shouldn't even be talking to you about this."

"It's ok, Hermione. If you feel comfortable enough to discuss it, I don't mind." He reassured her. "When you and Samuel kiss, what?"

She looked up at him, a thoughtful frown on her face as she mulled her response. "It's just... I mean, it's nice. I enjoy it. I enjoy him, he's very sweet and kind and gentle. But it's not.. forceful, you know? There aren't fireworks when we kiss." _Like with the professor_, the voice in her head supplied. She shook her head again, dispelling the thought. "And I don't know... I mean, shouldn't there be?"

He thought about her question for a moment. "Not necessarily." He finally replied. "Fireworks are nice and, sometimes, real love can blossom from such feelings. But just as often, the passion will build over time. Two people could be friends, nothing more than friends, for years before realizing their feelings for one another, like Arthur and Molly." She nodded, taking in his words.

"Or, sometimes," he continued. "Two people can begin dating and the chemistry builds as they get to know one another." She nodded again, saying nothing. "It doesn't have to happen overnight, Hermione. Give it time. Samuel is good for you, he's a good person. Just... give it time."

"Ya." She said with a small sigh. "You're right. Of course, you're right."

"And if he steps out of line, let me know and I will hex his arse five ways from Sunday." He warned.

She let out a laugh at the image of the low-key, easygoing werewolf hexing Samuel. He chuckled in response, happy to see her smiling.

"Seriously, Hermione," he said after a few minutes; she looked up at him, quieting. "You are always welcome here to discuss anything you wish, alright? I don't promise to always have an answer, but I do promise to always lend a non-judgmental ear, no matter the topic."

She gave him a small, genuine smile. "Thank you, Remus. I appreciate that, more than you know." He nodded with a responding smile.

"Right." He said, clapping his hands together. "Now, how would you like a sneak peek at some DADA maneuvers we will be learning next week?" He saw her eyes light up, her hand immediately going to her pocket to retrieve her wand, sending him a beaming smile.


	19. Meeting

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 19: Meeting<strong>

Hermione and the professor's dance of avoidance worked until Thursday. The professor spent his time between his classroom and private chambers while Hermione spent her time with Samuel and the boys, who had accepted the American into their folds rather quickly. They spent their time in the common room or Hermione's room; talking, playing chess or just sitting quietly while Hermione tried to get the boys to revise with her.

"Hermione?" Samuel asked that evening as they sat, reading side-by-side on her bed.

"Hmm?" she replied, not lifting her head from the tome she was immersed in.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," she replied, head still down.

"Are we dating?" She looked up at him then; studying his features, her bright eyes scanning his face.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "We hang out, we take some meals together, we have plans to have dinner this weekend… clearly we are dating," she finished hesitantly.

"I know." He hesitated, glancing at the book in his hands. "I guess, what I'm asking is, and I know how incredibly young it sounds, but is it official? You know, exclusive?"

"Exclusive?" she repeated, unease peppered with guilt settling in the pit of her stomach.

"Yeah, I mean, I don't consider it actually a relationship unless we call it that, you know?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

"I mean, dating is fine. It's fun. But at this point, I wouldn't be upset if I found out you were also seeing someone else…" He paused. "Well, I'd be upset, but I wouldn't have the right to be angry about it because we hadn't yet decided to be 'together'" He inserted air quotes, chuckling as Hermione's face looked baffled to see them.

"I see," she said quietly, biting her lower lip.

He impulsively leaned in and kissed her, dragging her lower lip out as he did. She stiffened, surprised by his actions; they hadn't kissed since before 'The Incident', as she had taken to thinking about it. She felt him slow the kiss, suddenly hesitant about it. She didn't move away, even though something in her gut told her to, her brain overrode the command; telling her to remain where she was, to accept the wizard's kiss. She carefully moved her lips against his, tasting him again, willing herself to ignite a spark. His hand drifted up to the side of her face; cupping her cheek as he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She forced herself to remain still, only moving to grip the wrist of the hand holding her face.

He moved his tongue along hers, moaning softly against her lips as he tasted her. Moving his body closer, he coaxed her into a half-laying position, supporting himself on his hand as he leaned over her. His other hand left her face; ghosting down the front of her body, stopping for a moment at her breast. She stiffened noticeably in his arms and he quickly moved his hand away lest he frighten her off. She relaxed again when his hand settled at her waist and resumed kissing him. He really wasn't a bad kisser; she thought as she sucked his lower lip into her mouth, a flutter erupting in her gut when he pressed his arousal against the outside of her thigh. His lips moved away from hers; nudging her head up and tasting her neck, his hand kneading at her opposite hip, squeezing her flesh intermittently. He sealed his lips on her neck; kissing, sucking, tasting as her fingers moved through his hair. She was breathing heavily now, chest rising and falling against him as he sucked at her flesh. His hand slipped under her top and began traveling up her smooth torso; it closed over her cotton-covered breast and she stiffened. Her hands left his head, pushing at his shoulders and scooting out from underneath him.

"Hermione?" he asked, arousal clouding his brain as he saw her stand up and adjust her shirt.

"I'm sorry, Samuel," she said, rubbing her face with her hands before sending them up to her hairline and smoothing down the back of her head. "I'm so so sorry."

"No, it's.. it's fine," he said uncertainly. He turned away from her, swinging his legs off the other side of the bed to a sitting position, willing his erection to deflate.

"I didn't mean for that to happen." Her voice was trembling and worried. "I'm not teasing you, I swear. I just… I'm not ready."

He nodded his head, back still to her. "I understand. It's alright."

"Are you sure? Are you angry? You can be angry."

"No, Hermione. Of course, I'm not angry." He rubbed his hand across his own face, feeling his arousal dissipate. He sighed and turned to look at the witch. His cock twitched again as he saw her worry her bottom lip; lips that were red and plump from his attention. He turned back around.

"It's alright," he repeated. "We won't do anything you don't want to do. Obviously."

He heard her sigh in relief. He stood up, turning to face her. "I should go."

She nodded with a dejected look on her face. He walked to the door, placed his hand on the knob and turned to look at her again. "You'll think about what I asked though, right?"

She looked up at him in surprise, an unreadable expression on her face as she nodded slowly. He gave a firm nod in reply before turning and leaving her room.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Hermione tossed herself onto her bed, buried her face in her pillows and cried. She cried because, somehow, even with all this attention, she felt utterly alone. She cried because she didn't know what she was doing, whether she was making the right choices. She cried because it felt like everyday was a 'thing' she had to get through. She cried because she knew she should want Samuel but all she wanted at that moment was to see the professor; to feel the power emanating from him, the certainty with which he handled her body, the way every care she had evaporated whenever his lips touched hers and it felt like they were the only people left in the world. That no one on earth had kissed until they had… that nothing mattered so long as his lips didn't leave hers, so long as his hands kept her grounded.

Hermione cried for a long time; purging herself of her feelings and uncertainty, soaking her pillows. Finally, when she could no longer breathe for the sobbing she'd done, she pulled herself from the bed and staggered to her bathroom. Splashing cold water on her face, she looked at herself in the mirror. She almost looked like herself again, she thought, but her eyes… even she did not recognize her eyes anymore. They were old, she decided, tilting her head in thought; her eyes were no longer bubbly and cheerful as they had always been. They were darker now, deeper; they carried all her secrets, from the illicit encounters with her professor to the events of that night; the memories of the curses she'd flung, the burning shame of her dad's furious eyes as the Deatheaters had groped at her bound-form that night. Events that even Harry only had a passing knowledge of as he had never prodded her about it. She shook her head; dispelling the images and pulling herself from the melancholy that was threatening to consume her. She splashed more water on her face, holding her hair off her neck as she rubbed her cold hand across her neck and chest. Something caught her eye…

"Oh no… no no no no no," she said, pushing her hair to the side, eyes widening as she saw the angry purple love bite coloring the side of her neck. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" she cursed, frantically pressing cold water against the mark, trying to alleviate it. A knock sounded at the door.

"Fuck!" she said again, pulling her hair around over her shoulder to cover the mark. She went through her room and opened the door.

"Hi." It was Harry, looking a bit worried as he took a quick scan of her. "Are you ok?"

"Fine," she said, running her hand over her hair, keeping it over her shoulder, obscuring her neck.

"Dumbledore wants to see us."

"Us?"

"Yeah, he told me to call you." She stood there, nodding absentmindedly, hand stroking her hair. "Well? Come on," he prodded.

"What? Now?" she asked, her features worried.

"Yes now, unless you have a more pressing engagement," Harry mocked. "Come on." He turned away from her.

She Accio'd her wand and still frowning, followed him down the corridor and out of the tower. They met up with Ron outside the Fat Lady's portrait and made their way through Hogwarts to the headmaster's office.

"Are you sure you're alright, Hermione?" Harry said as they rounded a corner. "You seem odd."

"I'm fine," she replied distractedly, her mind whirling with the thoughts she was trying desperately to organize and control.

They came to the gargoyles guarding the steps to the headmaster's office. "Chocolate Frogs," Harry said, waiting as the gargoyles leapt aside. They ascended the moving staircase up into the office.

"Ah, there you are," the headmaster said. "Come in. Come in, children."

They stepped into the warm office; the fireplace ablaze, Fawkes perched serenely on his branch. Hermione's gaze traveled from the headmaster's face and noticed, for the first time, another occupant in the room. Her breathing hitched a bit as she saw the potions master seated in one of the armchairs. His expression was schooled to one of intense boredom as he cradled a teacup to his chest. He took in her face and she saw his dark eyes narrow and flash dangerously; she felt panic erupting in her gut, wondering if her face still showed signs of what she had been doing not an hour before. She smoothed her hair more fully across her neck, making sure it covered the mark entirely as her eyes went to the floor, avoiding the professor's gaze.

Why were the witch's eyes puffy? he thought as he continued studying her. Her eyes were red and puffy as though she'd been crying. Was she still upset by what had happened that night? It was days ago, he thought, puzzled. Surely she would still be upset about it, he conceded, but upset enough to cry? And not only cry, but to cry enough that her eyes would look like that. _What arrogance…_ the voice in his head drawled, _to think the witch has nothing to do but cry over your treatment of her. Perhaps something else has upset her._ His black eyes narrowed even more at that, watching the witch and her friends take the seats the headmaster offered. Had the American upset her? he found himself thinking angrily. _It's not your concern if he has,_ the voice countered.

"Lemon drops?" the headmaster offered. Potter and the girl shook their head while the redhead leaned forward to accept one. "Tea?" Dumbledore asked, waving his hand at the tea service.

Three cups of tea began preparing themselves and sailed over to the trio, along with a bowl of sugar. The boys stirred in several lumps while the girl just sipped at hers, unsweetened.

"No sugar, Miss Granger?" Albus asked in a teasing tone.

_What is he twinkling about?_ Severus thought in annoyance.

"No, thank you, sir. I take it straight," she replied, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the headmaster's interest.

"Just like our potions master," Albus responded with a chuckle. 

_Ah, that explains the twinkle_, Severus thought as he glared at the pair of them. The girl just gave the headmaster a polite smile.

"That's interesting, Professor Dumbledore," the green-eyed wizard said unconvincingly. "But I believe you wanted to discuss something with us."

"Yes, Harry. I thought it would be more prudent for all of us to discuss this Horcrux business together. You and your friends' quick response to the ring leads me to believe we ought to have a more open dialogue about this issue."

"I agree," Potter said with a firm nod. Severus snorted at that.

"We have several issues to discuss, but before we do, is there anything you three need to ask?"

"Do you have any idea yet how many there are?" Potter asked.

"I'm afraid not, Harry. Severus and I are working hard at trying to discern how many Tom may have made. But." The headmaster cast a sideways glance at Severus. "Tom is being very tight-lipped about it."

Harry nodded his head ruefully. "Do you have any idea what any of the others might be?"

"I have theories," Dumbledore admitted. "But none so advanced as to bear exploring."

"Where did you find the ring?" the girl piped up.

"It was at Tom's old family home. Buried beneath the floorboards."

"Hard to think of him actually coming from a family," she said, shuddering slightly. "Was it a family heirloom?"

"It was. It had been passed down. Tom used to wear it when he was a student here." She nodded her head, pondering his answer.

"Perhaps he turned more family artifacts into Horcruxes," she supplied.

"It's certainly possible," the headmaster conceded. "Severus and I have thought as much, but there do not seem to be any more objects which he flaunted the way he did the ring."

"It doesn't have to be something he flaunted," Harry argued.

"I agree," Dumbledore concurred. "But it does leave us at quite a loss if it is something he chose not to reveal to anyone."

"Headmaster," the witch said. "Harry mentioned that you were interested in the connection he has with Vold –" The potions master hissed suddenly, cutting her off. She stopped and levied a puzzled look his way.

"Please, do not invoke that name, Miss Granger," the headmaster explained. "It causes Severus discomfort when the name is invoked."

"It's just a name," she said tentatively, derailed from her original line of questioning.

"It is not _just _a name as you so dismissively put it," the potions master snarled at her. "Words have power, Miss Granger; power to heal, power to hurt, power to kill. Why would a _name_ be any different?" He caught the Weasley brat nodding his head emphatically in agreement.

Her eyes, the gold flecks lighting as the fire hit them, scanned him from head to toe and he could practically hear the wheels turning in her head. Suddenly, her gaze fixed on his left forearm which was, of course, covered in his thick black robes.

"Your mark." Her eyes flicked back up to his. "It hurts your mark when the name is uttered." She had the audacity to not even frame it as a question; Severus merely sneered at her.

"Well done, Miss Granger. But we mustn't let that bit of news get out about our professor," Dumbledore cautioned. The girl's eyes lowered when the professor's face adopted an ugly scowl. "Now, you were saying?"

She raised her gaze back up to the headmaster and collected her thoughts. "Yes.. umm… the connection they share. Harry mentioned you wanted to explore using it as a way to find the Horcruxes?"

"Yes, I did. But we cannot be too careful in this regard. The connection is not something to be played with idly. It may do more harm than good" he finished, gazing somberly at Harry's forehead.

"But if Harry didn't feel anything in the connection when he destroyed the ring, then perhaps Vo – the Dark Lord – wouldn't feel it if we explored the connection more," the witch said. "If the Horcruxes are bits of his soul, then perhaps Harry can.." She glanced at the scruffy-haired wizard next to her. "Call to them or feel them out or something."

"Not nearly as articulate when you don't have a text to memorize, are you, Miss Granger?" the professor drawled insultingly. She shot a glare at him; a glare that was tripled as the boys shot identical looks his way. The headmaster simply stroked his beard and gazed at the fire.

"It's possible," Dumbledore answered, unmindful of Severus' comment.

"But," the witch continued, "if Harry didn't feel anything through the connection, does that mean the dark lord didn't feel the ring get destroyed? I can't imagine he wouldn't feel a part of his soul dying. And if it did alert him, wouldn't he then move the Horcruxes from wherever they are now to a safer location?"

"Blimey, Hermione," said the redhead. "That's a cheerful thought."

"We have considered all these things, Miss Granger," the headmaster said wearily. "And the plain answer is; we do not know. The magic behind Horcruxes is archaic, exceedingly dark and long-prohibited. It is magic I myself am woefully unfamiliar with."

The girl glanced at the redhead. "And you thought my comment was depressing."

The boys and headmaster chuckled while Severus kept a sneer locked on his features; not believing he was actually having a strategy meeting with these three children. _Well, _the voice supplied, _the witch has certainly proven she is no longer a child._ Severus shook his head, taking a drink of his tea.

"We need resource material," the witch continued with a firm nod of her head. "The library has no books about this subject, headmaster, but if I could go to the wizard archives in London, I'm sure we could find helpful books there." The potions master snorted; and Hermione thought to herself that for someone so disdainful of books, she had seen plenty of them stacked in his quarters when she'd been there.

"Severus has already pulled any and all books referencing the topic, but as I understand it, Severus, you have not had time to go through them all?" He glanced at the professor.

"No. Between enriching the feeble minds of our students and my other… responsibilities, I have not had the time," he admitted.

"I am well caught up in my revisions, headmaster," the girl addressed Dumbledore. "As well as my classes, I would be more than happy to assist the professor in researching the subject."

"Horcruxes are exceedingly dark magic, Miss Granger," the potions master growled. "These are not happy Ancient Runes texts or Charms manuals. These books are dark and they have a power all their own. There is a reason they are banned from the school library."

"You know, the way you keep denigrating all my ideas, one would think you don't want us finding these Horcruxes," she snapped in response.

His black eyes flashed to hers and a wave of pure magical energy rippled through the room, blanketing them all in waves of his ire while the teacup he was still holding shattered in his hand. The headmaster turned to him with shock spelled plainly on his features and Severus knew the headmaster was surprised by his lack of control. He could see the question in Albus' eyes, why would such little provocation result in such a display? Severus ignored their looks as he watched the headmaster wandlessly clear the mess and repair his cup.

"You're bleeding." Her impossibly soft voice snaked into his ear. He ignored her and, wand held in his non-wand hand, attempted to heal the cut. It wasn't working; the magic he had expelled in addition to using the wrong hand was not allowing him to heal his wound as properly or quickly as he would like.

He saw movement from the corner of his eye and saw her cross the room to him. He backed into his chair. "I do not need a student's help," he sneered. "The headmaster can heal it."

"Oh, I'm sure she can do it, Severus," Dumbledore scoffed from his place at his shelves, scanning the books, clearly having already dismissed the entire incident as an aberration.

The boys' eyes narrowed as they watched the girl walk resolutely to him and kneel at his feet. She didn't look him in the eye as her left hand took his right and something like an electrical current passed through them. She released his hand; eyes narrowed and looked up at him.

"Residual energy," he croaked out, avoiding her gaze as his hand continued to bleed onto his trouser leg.

She gave a nod and took his hand in hers again. Waving her wand a few times, she cleaned the wound before beginning the healing chant; her voice low and confident as she coaxed the skin of his palm into knitting back together. He found himself mesmerized by her voice; the calm, melodic quality snaking through his being, stilling his thoughts. Her eyes were focused on her task, and he found himself idly thinking she would make a good mediwitch. She finished her chant, tilting his hand this way and that to examine the now almost invisible cut. She stroked her thumb over the palm to feel her work and he snatched his hand out of her grasp. She looked up at him with slightly desolate eyes before righting herself and moving back to her seat.

The headmaster had pulled a few books down and now set them on the small table before her.

"Those books deal with Horcrux magic, Miss Granger," Dumbledore explained, oblivious to the thread of tension permeating the room. "But they are not as potentially harmful as the texts Severus has. I suggest you begin with these and Severus can continue looking through his." She nodded in compliance.

"I have a question," Weasley piped up. The headmaster indicated for him to continue as he sat himself behind his large mahogany desk. "Last time, you said that the fang was only good for one use." Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "How are we supposed to destroy the others? … assuming we find them, of course."

"Severus and I have been discussing that as well, although I must confess most of our energy has gone towards discerning what they are rather than how to destroy them. I am confident a solution will present itself in due course."

"What?" Harry asked incredulously. "That's your solution? Wait and see? And hope that an answer 'presents itself'?"

"Some things you must leave to greater powers, Harry," Dumbledore said. Severus snorted loudly at that.

Harry was not reassured by this non-response and it showed in his posture; arms crossed over his chest, a fierce frown on his face. The witch was gazing at the cover of the book she had in her lap, her slim fingers tracing the engraved title. _Almost like a pet_, Severus thought and was suddenly assailed by a ridiculous envy, growing more and more certain that he was losing his mind.

"In any case, we have to locate these Horcruxes before we begin fretting on how to destroy them," Dumbledore said calmly, stroking his long white beard. "I suggest Severus and Miss Granger continue researching the matter. Harry, you continue with the meditative practices I gave you and see if you can discern anything through your –"

"Greater powers? That's it!" the witch suddenly exclaimed, her amber eyes lighting excitedly as she looked about the room. They all stared at her, waiting for an explanation. "The basilisk fang destroyed the Horcrux!"

Potter's eyes narrowed in query. "Yes," he said haltingly. "Do you have any of those lying around?"

"What?" She turned to him with a frown, missing his tone, "No, of course not."

He threw her an exasperated look. "Then what are you talking about?" the redhead asked from her other side.

"The basilisk fang was powerful enough to destroy the Horcrux. So, theoretically, something as powerful or more so would also be able to destroy them." She looked at them each in turn.

"Your point being?" Potter asked. She huffed in response.

"Professor Dumbledore? Do you agree with the logic?" she asked the old wizard.

"Indeed, Miss Granger. Though I am at a loss as to where you are going with this."

She leaned forward in her seat. "Harry killed the Basilisk using Gryffindor's sword. Gryffindor's sword, as per _Hogwarts: A History_, is Goblin-made, meaning it only takes in that which makes it stronger." She looked at them pointedly. "If that is the case, as it must be since I can't see how the book could get something like that wrong, then the sword is imbued with Basilisk venom and, therefore, should theoretically be capable of destroying Horcruxes."

All their eyes had started to widen as they began to understand her logic while she was speaking; Dumbledore and the professor's eyes widening first followed by Harry and Ron's. Harry had turned to the headmaster before she'd finished speaking, waiting to see some sign that the wizard agreed before he rejoiced in the solution.

The headmaster was slowly nodding his head, an expression of awed pride on his features. "That is quite a remarkable feat of deduction, Miss Granger. I had not even thought along those lines, so determined was I to find the basilisk fangs themselves. Well done, Miss Granger, well done. Don't you agree, Severus?"

"Indeed," he drawled, not taking his eyes off the witch in front of him. The awe and pride written so plainly across the headmaster's face were quietly blooming deep in his breast.

Potter leaned forward excitedly. "Do you still have the Sword, Headmaster?"

"I believe it is in the Room of Requirement with the other Founders' artifacts. Severus, perhaps you can check that it remains there?" He nodded his head towards the old wizard.

"Excellent. Wonderful. This has been most productive," he said, clapping his hands cheerfully. "Off you go then, it's nearing curfew. I'll see you tomorrow, Harry."

Hermione stood along with the boys; bending to retrieve the books, she absentmindedly swept her hair off her neck. Only when she had stood up, her hands full of the heavy books did she realize she had bared the side of her neck with the mark on it. She turned to face the room, hoping to escape before anyone noticed and met with his impossibly dark eyes. They were fixed like lasers on the mark on her neck and his chest heaved slightly as his breathing grew heavier. His eyes met hers and she felt something within her crack painfully. There was anger there, no doubt, but there was also something else, buried deep in those obsidian eyes was hurt; she saw it. But just as quickly as she registered it, the impassive expression returned to his face and a look of slight disgust colored his expression as he looked at her. She turned away from him, subtly shaking her hair loose so it bounced back over her shoulders and followed the boys from the room.

* * *

><p>Hermione bid Harry and Ron goodbye and went to her room. Leaning against the door for a moment, she gave a deep sigh, shaking her head as she remembered the way the professor had looked at her. <em>Common trollope,<em> she remembered him saying. Is that what she was? she thought as she moved into the room and sat on her bed, fanning the books out around her. Was she teasing Samuel with her behavior? Allowing him to kiss her, hold her, date her when in reality what she really wanted was the professor's arms, his kiss, his touch? Samuel was a better choice, her mind reasoned; _and its like Remus said, perhaps if you give it time, the spark will ignite_.

Vowing to think no more on the professor, for that night at least, Hermione studied the half dozen or so books the headmaster had given her. Flipping quickly through each one, she selected the book she would begin with. Scooping up the others, she went to the chest at the foot of her bed to stow them. Opening the large oak chest and shifting things aside to make room, she unearthed a photo of her parents. Pausing to look at it, she frowned slightly as something niggled at the back of her mind, something she felt she ought to remember. Pushing the photo between the pages of an old photo album, she carefully placed the books inside. Standing up, she shed her clothes as she walked to her bathroom; turning on the taps and testing the water, she kept thinking there was something she was forgetting, about her parents. The water was fine and she stepped under the spray, tilting her head back to soak her hair. She squirted some shampoo into her palm and massaged it into her scalp, mentally going over her schedule for the following week. Tilting her head back to rinse, it hit her.

Their anniversary. Her parents anniversary was the following day. Dropping her soapy hands from her hair, Hermione counted off the days on her fingers. _The twelfth,_ she thought, finishing her count; _Tomorrow's their twentieth. _She shook her head, blinking back the tears and reached for her hair again.

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><p><strong>AN Some have taken issue with Hermione's association with Samuel given her very obvious interest in the professor. What I'm trying to illustrate is her confusion and uncertainty concerning what the best course of action for her to take is. Her behavior can also be construed as a manifestation of her grief over her parents' loss. She needs to connect to someone, she needs that sort of comfort and she's trying to force herself to find it with Samuel - given that he's clearly the more popular choice and she does like him - but at the same time, can't help but feel something ignite whenever she's around the professor.**

**All in all, it's a pretty confusing time for our girl, but hopefully things will reach an accord fairly soon ;)**

**Thanks again for all your lovely reviews. They really make me smile :D**


	20. Breaking

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

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><p><strong>Chapter 20: Breaking<strong>

Early the next morning, Severus made his way through the halls of Hogwarts with his mind curiously empty. He had spent the previous night raging about his chambers; breaking vases and glasses, casting spells about the room without regard for his own safety, doing anything he could to get the angry purple love bite out of his mind. He wanted to think the worst of her. He wanted to believe she was nothing but a common whore; no different than the filthy hags he encountered in Knockturn Alley, but something within him prevented it. He knew he had mistreated her. He knew he had no right to expect anything of her. A small part of his brain even conceded that the American was a better choice for her and that he could not fault the logic of her decision. Eventually his anger had burned itself out and he had collapsed, fully clothed, in bed, the last thought in his mind how reckless it was of him to allow her to consume him so fully.

Upon waking the next day, he realized he ought to have checked on the Sword of Gryffindor before turning in. It was almost obscenely irresponsible of him to not immediately do as Albus requested of him. Not desiring to endure a lecture, or worse a disappointed and no doubt calculating look from the old wizard, Severus set off first thing in the morning to verify its location within the school. Pacing back and forth in the corridor, Severus kept in mind his need for the Room, that it should assume the form of the storage facility.

The door appeared and he stepped through; pleased that the Room had taken on the required form, Severus made a deliberate walk down the aisle to the back where the founders' relics were kept. As soon as he approached the designated area, he could see that something was definitely wrong. Shaking his head as he accelerated his step, he came upon the cabinets housing the artifacts. Biting out a low expletive, he turned on his heel and made haste to Dumbledore's office.

"_Every Flavor Beans_," the potions master snarled, not slowing down as the gargoyle jumped aside to let him pass.

"Severus?" the headmaster greeted him, tidying the papers on his desk, evidently on his way to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"I was in the Room of Requirement, checking on the Sword." The headmaster nodded for him to continue. "They're gone, headmaster."

"Gone?" the old wizard asked, blue eyes widening minutely.

"Yes."

"They?"

"Not just the Sword. The Cup and Diadem as well."

"Oh, dear," the headmaster said softly, absentmindedly sinking into his seat.

"I take it you did not know the Cup and Diadem were missing?" the potions master asked snidely.

"No. No, I did not. I have not seen the relics in years, not since Harry used the Sword."

"I see. And when you put the Sword back, the others were there?" he replied, sinking into one of the armchairs opposite the desk.

"All but the Locket, of course." The potions master didn't respond to this, but sat contemplatively, his index finger slowly tracing his thin upper lip. "This is not good, Severus."

"You don't say?"

"Now is not the time for your levity."

"What would you have me do, headmaster?"

"We must locate them, clearly. Do you think Tom would have stolen them?"

"It seems as likely an explanation as any," the professor conceded. "Though I don't see how he managed it without someone on the inside…." He cocked his head. "I suppose I ought to be insulted that he should exclude me from such a simple operation."

The headmaster gave him a sharp look but did not comment. "You don't think he would turn them into Horcruxes?" he asked.

"Is it even possible?" Severus asked, the worry clear in his voice. "They are very powerful objects."

"Yes, yes, they are," the headmaster murmured, stroking his beard with a worried frown, "which means they would also make exceedingly powerful Horcruxes."

* * *

><p>The witch was upset again; Severus thought warily as he watched her pushing her food around her plate during lunch, head down, not speaking. He found himself again wondering what she was upset about and whether it was anything to do with him. <em>Don't be so arrogant, <em>the voice chastised; _you saw the mark on her neck last night, clearly the witch has moved on. _Her companions were trying to talk to her but she ignored them, sipping her tea and giving up on her meal.

The American entered the Great Hall, heading immediately to the Gryffindor table. He saw the girl and Severus saw his eyes narrow as he approached her. He crouched down next to where she was seated and she turned to face him, head lowered as though embarrassed. Severus' jaw clenched as he saw the wizard push her curls behind her ears, trying to get a better look at her face. She covertly swiped at her eyes, keeping her head down so as not to draw attention. The wizard stood, took her hand and tugged her to her feet. She protested meekly but he just took her things from the table and pulled her to his side as he led her out of the hall. She allowed herself to settle into his side, his arm wrapped protectively around her as they walked out.

Severus felt himself shoot out of his seat, his mind not following what his body was doing; he turned abruptly and left the hall, muttering excuses in his wake. Walking through the corridors, wrapping around the Hall, he kept his eyes peeled for the couple, not entirely sure what he would do if he found them. He turned the corner and caught movement out of a window to his right. Stopping, he saw the pair standing in the courtyard, well out of earshot.

"I hate this, Samuel," Hermione said, rubbing her hands over her face. "I hate feeling this way. It's ridiculous."

"No, it isn't," he argued kindly.

"Yes, it is." She gestured wildly, shaking her head of hair. "What am I going to do? break down every time an important date comes along? My father's birthday is in two months, three months after that is my mother's; am I just going to always break down on those days? It's their anniversary, Samuel! I was never even involved in this day. All I ever did was send a card or something. It was never important to me," she finished, raking her fingers through her hair, fresh tears threatening.

He raised his hand to her face; cupping her cheek as he wiped his thumb under her eye, drying her tears. "It's natural to feel this way, Hermione, at least for the first few anniversaries. It'll get easier with time. You'll see."

Whatever the wizard said didn't seem to make the witch feel any better, Severus thought, as he saw her shoulders shake while she tried to contain her sobs. The wizard's face fell further and he pulled the witch into his arms. Something in Severus' gut twisted as he saw how readily she allowed the American to envelop her. He suddenly realized; he wanted to be the one comforting her, he wanted to know why she was so upset, he wanted to be the one shouldering her sobs. Severus felt a painful jerk as her face became visible over the wizard's shoulder. Her features were twisted into an expression of acute grief; tears streaming down her cheeks, body shaking as the sobs wracked her small frame. The American accepted it all; saying nothing, just wrapping his arms tighter around her as though afraid she would float away if he didn't.

Severus didn't need to see anymore. Disgusted with himself and the cruel realities fate had dealt him, he turned and stalked down to his dark, cold dungeons.

* * *

><p>Hermione coasted through her classes that day; not participating or really paying attention, so distraught was she in her grief. The boys gave her a wide berth and said very little to her, allowing her her day of sorrow. They walked her to and from all their classes, talking quietly between themselves.<p>

Potions class passed in much the same fashion. Hermione kept her head down, completing her potion silently and as per the instructions on the board. She never even glanced at the professor and he did not acknowledge her presence in his classroom. The professor practically ignored the Gryffindor side of the room; not taking any points nor lobbing insults, it was as if that entire half of the room were not even present. Hermione found that she didn't care. She could not muster the energy to even think about the professor that day. It was as though nothing had occurred between them; as though they were back at the beginning of term, and he was just her teacher.

He dismissed them ten minutes early and Hermione gathered her things and followed the boys to the door.

"Miss Granger," his low voice, a slight undertone of uncertainty lacing it, whipped around her. "Stay behind."

Her shoulders sagged, she was so tired. All she wanted was the school day to be done so she could curl up in bed for the rest of the evening. The boys gave her a look of sympathy before leaving, shutting the door behind them. She felt him walking towards her and slowly turned around, her back to the door. His wrists flicked as he walked and she felt silencing charms and wards go up behind her. She kept her eyes down to the last second, avoiding his gaze.

He stopped in front her, taking in the witch's appearance. She looked exhausted, he thought; eyes downcast, dark circles ringing them, a frown on her features as she avoided looking at him. He stood silently for a moment, waiting to see if she would look up, but her eyes stayed trained on her feet.

"I noticed," he began, not entirely sure what he was going to say. "I noticed you were upset earlier."

She remained quiet; but her eyes flickered up to him, brows drawing together as she processed his words. "It's nothing," she replied quietly.

"You seemed rather… distressed," he persisted.

She shook her head and turned her face away from him. "It's nothing. I'm fine," she repeated.

He had to get through to her, he thought. Convinced he could not succeed with words; he stepped into her space and she backed into the door. Undeterred, he bent his face to her neck, nuzzling beneath her ear. She sucked in a breath but did not push him away. Hesitantly, his hands came to her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"What has upset you?" he whispered into her ear, feeling her shiver slightly as his hands rubbed small circles on her back.

"Why do you care?" she responded haltingly, small hands on his chest.

He pulled away, keeping his hands at her waist as he looked in her eyes. She looked so defeated, he thought. He didn't know how to answer her question so he bent towards her, tilting his head to capture her lips.

"Samuel," she said, seconds before his mouth closed over hers, her hands exerting a small amount of pressure against his chest.

He pulled back; black eyes flashing dangerously, nostrils flaring as he looked at the witch.

"What?" he snapped, cracking his neck to the side audibly.

She looked up at him; desolate, eyes wide and brimming with tears. "He wants to be in a relationship. A real relationship. Exclusive," she said, quietly, lowering her hands to her sides.

He just stared at her; emotions and thoughts whirling about his consciousness, weighing his options as she gazed at him. His very soul seemed to rise into his throat, viscerally rejecting the notion that she was presenting to him. He made his decision; fairly certain it wasn't the right one.

He leaned into her again, his hand going to her chin and guiding it up to meet him. "He does not have to know," he whispered, nearly against his will, even as his mind struggled to call the words back.

"I will know!" she exclaimed, shoving him roughly in the chest. "What sort of witch do you think I am?" She stared at him, eyes narrowed in anger. "No, don't." She raised her hands to stop his response. "You've already answered that."

With that, she turned; pulled the door open roughly and left, slamming it in her wake.

* * *

><p><strong>AN Sigh... what are we gonna do with him? I'm starting to get annoyed with Severus (!) and can only say our couple will resolve _all _their issues within the next few chapters ;) **

**Thanks for sticking with me and for all your kind words and support :D**

**Also, 300th reviewer gets a virtual cookie and 10 house points! :D  
><strong>


	21. Done

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21: Done<strong>

She couldn't do it anymore, she just couldn't do it anymore, Hermione thought as she stormed her way back to the tower, angrily swiping her tears away.

It was too much; too much emotion, too much caring, too much confusion. This term was supposed to be empty, numb; she was supposed to coast through the term with as little trouble as possible, focusing on overcoming her grief. She did not need this; the aggravation, the feelings, the conflicted desires. She didn't need it. Why was she allowing this to happen to her? She should have stopped it all in its tracks, she thought, climbing through the portrait hole and bypassing the common room as she made her way to her quarters.

_Stop it all,_ she thought as she took out her wand to unward her door. She turned and looked down the hallway. Acting before she had a chance to reconsider, she made her way to his door and knocked sharply.

"Hermione?" Samuel said with a wide smile. "Come in. Is everything ok?" His brow furrowed as he got a better look at her.

She walked past him into his room, re-sheathing her wand within the folds of her robe as she walked. She pushed her hands through her mass of hair and turned to face him.

"Are you still upset?" he asked, concern marring his features.

"Yes," she replied honestly. "But that's not why I'm here."

"Ok." Concern turned to slight worry as he took in the fact that she seemed to be a bearer of ill news.

"You asked me to be… exclusive with you," she said haltingly. "For.. our relationship to be exclusive."

"I did," he confirmed carefully, putting his hands in his pockets.

His eyes left hers as he took in her appearance; wild curls flying about her face, dark circles beneath her large amber eyes, her lower lip firmly trapped between her teeth. "Have you made a decision?" She nodded her head, pushing the curls out of her face impatiently.

"I won't like it, will I?" She shook her head 'no'.

"I see," he said, hitching his pants legs up as he sat on the edge of his bed.

"I'm so sorry, Samuel," she said softly. "I realize I sort of, lead you on. And you must believe that it was not my intention. I care for you. I do. Its just.." Her voice hitched and he looked up from the spot on the floor that he had been eyeing.

"Its just.. not right," she finished, her head shaking. "My parents have only just died and you don't know everything about it," she stopped abruptly, trying to hold back her tears and he saw her eyes go to the ceiling; an action he recognized she did when she was desperately trying not to cry.

"You could tell me about it," he offered hesitantly. She looked at him and just shook her head.

"It's not just that. It's everything. I feel.. it's too much. I can't deal with all this. I thought I could, but I can't and it's not fair to you. It's not fair because you're kind and sweet and generous and it's not fair."

She started to cry at this, turning away from him. He sighed, stood up and went to her. Wrapping her in his arms, he felt her tense a bit before she relaxed in his embrace, letting his chest support her.

"It's ok," he murmured into her hair. "It's ok."

"I'm so sorry."

"I know. I know."

"You can hate me," she mumbled miserably.

"I don't hate you, Hermione," he said with a sigh. "You've been through a lot; more than I'm sure I could even imagine. If it doesn't feel right, then… it doesn't feel right. There's nothing I or you can do about that."

Her thin shoulders trembled against him as she tried to hold in the tears. Sighing again, he turned her in his arms and pulled her into him. She burrowed her face in his chest and let go. He smoothed her hair down with one hand while the other rubbed her back.

"You didn't lead me on. That's why I asked about us, I wanted this clarity. This is good, Hermione. It's ok."

She kept crying and he just held her for several minutes, silently comforting her while trying to tamp down the disappointment he felt.

After some moments, she pulled away from him, wiping her tears away and he turned to hand her a box of tissue.

"Thank you," she said, drying her eyes. "You're far too nice, Samuel."

"I know," he replied with a shrug. "One of my many less favorable qualities."

She gave a small laugh then sniffled again as she dabbed at her eyes. "This is probably the last thing you want to hear me say," she began, looking up at him with sad eyes. "But do you think, maybe… we could still be friends?"

He felt something twist uncomfortably inside him at her words. He wanted to be more than friends with the witch; remembering the feel of her full lips against his, her tantalizing curves under his fingers, how aroused she had made him. He knew that he wanted much more than friendship from her. He also knew, just as surely, that he could not tell her such a thing; not when she stood in front of him looking so… broken.

"Of course, Hermione. Of course, we're friends."

* * *

><p>"Severussss, how nice of you to join us."<p>

It did not matter how long he lived, the potions master thought as he made his way through the room, he would never be able hear the Dark Lord's voice without feeling this ripple of disgust run coldly through his veins. He came closer to where the Dark Lord sat, ignoring the Deatheaters milling about the room while emptying his head of thoughts and his soul of feeling. He came to a halt before the Lord, sitting on his newly acquired throne, and gave a respectful incline of his head.

"How are you this evening, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked carefully and the professor could feel him licking at the edge of his consciousness.

"You flatter me with your concern, my Lord. I am well." He gave another respectful incline of his head before lifting his black eyes to red.

He felt the Dark Lord enter his mind with all the grace of a sledgehammer, rifling through his memories and thoughts since they had last met. Severus laid his mind bare for his perusal; confident in his ability as an Occlumance after twenty years of enduring this violation.

He felt the Dark Lord brush upon the memory of his trip to the Room of Requirement and Severus was careful to color the memory with only the slightest touch of piqued interest. The professor had modified the memory to make it look as though he was doing nothing more than a regular inventory of the Room's contents and had casually noted the absence of the artifacts. He felt the Dark Lord tense in his mind as he observed the memory; Severus' subsequent meeting with Dumbledore was locked away safely behind the potions master's shields.

"Get out," he barked suddenly as he slithered out of Severus' head, holding his gaze. "All of you get out."

Severus kept a benign, if slightly curious, expression on his face as he waited for the room to clear. The Dark Lord's eyes never left the professor's face as he methodically drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. The last of the Deatheaters left the room and Severus heard the heavy door swing shut behind them.

"Did you speak to the old man about the missing artifacts?" the Dark Lord hissed.

"No, I did not, my Lord."

"Any particular reason?"

"I had in mind to ask the school's caretaker before taking the matter to Dumbledore."

"The absence of the Founders' artifacts is not something which would be of immediate interest to him?"

Severus shrugged casually. "Gryffindor's Sword perhaps," he conceded, "but I don't see how he would trouble himself over the Cup or Diadem. It's not as if he ever made any real effort to recover the Locket," he finished deliberately, watching the Dark Lord's face.

"Indeed? I always found it strange that he never made much noise over its loss."

"Dumbledore is a strange wizard, my Lord. I would not waste energy dissecting his eccentricities."

The Dark Lord chuckled at that and fixed his gaze on the professor. "Are you curious as to where these artifacts have gone, Severus?"

"Only in a cursory way, my Lord, but given our current conversation, I can't help but think that their fate might be rather important."

"Indeed."

Nothing else seemed to be forthcoming and the Dark Lord seemed content to merely stare at the professor. Used to such oddities by now, Severus held himself in a casual but respectful posture as he waited for further instructions.

"May I be of service, my Lord?" Severus finally asked after several minutes of quiet.

"No, Severus. Not quite yet. You are free to leave."

"Thank you, my Lord." He inclined his head respectfully, turned on his heel and exited the room.

* * *

><p>"He should have taken the oath before term began."<p>

"I agree."

Making his way out of the hall and towards the door, Severus overheard the conversations around him as the Deatheaters streamed back into their Lord's presence.

"He's just a boy, Lucius," Narcissa exclaimed to her husband. Severus slowed his steps as he passed the group.

"You should be honored, Cissy, as should Draco," Bellatrix hissed. "Ah, Severus?" she added, catching sight of him. "What did the Dark Lord want with you?"

"If he had wanted you to know, Bella, I imagine he would have invited you to stay," he drawled in response, stopping at their group. "Lucius. Narcissa," he greeted them.

"How is Draco progressing this term, Severus?" Narcissa asked off-handedly.

"As well as he always does, Narcissa. He is a model Slytherin."

"Of course, he is. The Dark Lord is grooming him himself," Lucius boasted.

"Is he now?" Severus replied indifferently, his eyes scanning the open door as though he wished he were already gone.

"Yes," Lucius replied, lowering his tone. "You're not the only man he has on the inside."

Severus' eyes narrowed at this. "He's not a Deatheater yet, Lucius. Surely he's not responsible for anything vital to the Dark Lord's objectives."

"You'd be surprised."

"Hmm, and here we all thought you were the Dark Lord's favorite, Severus," Bellatrix remarked snidely.

"We are all on the same team, Bella," the potions master replied. "Or have you forgotten?" he finished, fixing the hated witch with his gaze. "Well, I am available; as I always have been, for council or assistance should Draco require it."

"He's performing beautifully," Lucius replied haughtily with a flick of his hair.

"Wonderful," Severus said impassively, turning to the door.

"Severus?" Narcissa reached out and grabbed his arm. "He's just a boy. Watch out for him," she said, sharp features pinched in worry.

"Of course," he said with a slight incline of his head. Patting her hand reassuringly, he walked away to the sound of Bellatrix inaudibly hissing at her sister.


	22. The Library

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 22: The Library<strong>

Hermione spent Saturday in the library going over her revisions. The boys had offered to join her but she had made it clear she wished to be alone. Papers and textbooks spread out before her, Hermione scribbled aggressively in her notebook as she went through her studies; using school, as she had been for weeks now, as a distraction from everything else in her life.

She had truly thought that ending things with Samuel, in addition to the less than amicable encounter with her professor, would have given her a sense of relief. She thought it would have made her feel as though she could focus on her studies and Harry's Horcrux mission without regard for any other considerations. But it was proving more difficult than she had imagined. Even now, with her Arithmancy text before her; all she could seem to think of was her professor, his eyes, his voice, the gentle but sure way that he had held her in the classroom. His dark voice as he whispered in her ear made her want to tell him all her secrets, all her wants and needs.

A movement to her right caught her eye and she lifted her head. The professor stood there, again as though she had conjured him. He was looking at her intently, taking her in, seeming to assess her countenance. She felt him erect wards around them, even though they were in an isolated corner of the library, on a Saturday no less.

The witch said nothing; just gazed at him with those large, beautiful amber eyes. He drank in her appearance as though he had not just seen her the day before. _Turning into a sentimental old fool,_ the voice mocked. After his meeting with the Dark Lord and subsequent briefing with Dumbledore; Severus had retired to his chambers, pouring a glass of firewhiskey and slumping in an armchair before the fire. Instead of thinking about what the Dark Lord had said, or the implication of what the Malfoys had told him, he found himself thinking - as he so often did these days - about the witch. He wondered what she was thinking, how he had mistreated her, he found himself going over every encounter they had had that term. It was at that point that he realized he had fully lost his mind. They were in the middle of a bloody war; now was not the time for him to be wasting precious days thinking about a blasted witch. He should be spending every waking hour strategizing, thinking about the war, puzzling out the Dark Lord's objectives; especially seeing as how, if what the Malfoys had said was true, he did seem to be falling out of the Dark Lord's favor. He should be spending every waking moment ingratiating himself with the evil wizard, proving his loyalty, winning back his confidences.

His inner dialogue had worked well. By the time he'd gone to bed, his head was clear and his path forward determined. He would put the witch out of his head, concentrate on his mission and that would be that.

Seeing the witch in the library, his first instinct was to leave, return to the dungeons and avoid a confrontation with her. But unmindful of his senses, he found his feet moving forward. Stopping at the side of her table, he could see she was preoccupied and had not noticed him. Taking in her mess of curls, her ink-stained fingers, her rumpled shirt… Severus felt all of his resolve slip effortlessly away from him. He wanted her, _needed_ her. There was no use denying it any longer.

Hermione could think of nothing to say and just kept looking at him.

"I have insulted you in every way possible," he finally said, his voice rough as he looked at her. "I have insulted your pride, your intelligence, your virtue… your person. I have insulted you in every way imaginable and cannot excuse it."

His eyes locked on her as he said this, searing into her, but still she could say nothing.

"I cannot excuse it or expect your forgiveness," he continued, not letting go of her gaze. "But I do apologize for it, Miss Granger."

Her only reaction was a slight widening of her eyes as she processed his apology. She broke his gaze and looked down at her textbook, tracing the page with her ink-smudged fingertips.

"Will you say nothing?" he half-hissed in exasperation after a moment. The witch would be the death of him, he was sure of it.

"What do you want?" she asked in a soft, barely recognizable voice. Her eyes lifted up to him and he felt he could almost see every emotion rolling through her.

He sighed and shifted his gaze to look out the window on her left. "I have no right to ask for what I want, Miss Granger."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" she retorted harshly. His gaze shot to her and he realized that she had reached the end of her patience with him. It was an odd, disconcerting, but not entirely unwelcome, feeling.

He squared his shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. "I want you to end your association with the American. I want you to refrain from having any further romantic associations with any wizard, or muggle for that matter. I want you to… wait until you graduate, so that I might… court you… properly," he finished considerably more tentative than he had begun, stealing himself for a mocking reaction from her, his closing words sounding pathetic even to his own ears.

The blasted witch still said nothing. She just looked at him, her expression a combination of shock, curiosity and thought. He did not push her; but stood silently, holding himself erect as he allowed her to process his words, his own mind mulling over the things he had told her.

"Harry," she suddenly said,_ sotto voce_.

"What?" he hissed. He would seriously begin hexing her if she did not desist from speaking other wizards' names in such circumstances.

"He's coming. He'll feel your wards, drop them," she hissed back. A flick of his wrists returned their corner of the library to normal as Potter approached them.

"Hi, Hermione. Professor Snape," he greeted them, coming to a stop at the edge of Hermione's table and glancing between her and the professor.

"Hi, Harry," she responded with an easy smile. "I was just going over some Arithmancy and it seems to have an overlap with Potions." She gestured to the professor.

_Well, she is certainly a more adept liar than typical Gryffindors,_ Severus thought as he looked at her.

"Yes," he snarled in response. "And I told you the area your damnable curiosity has led you to is more in Professor Vector's arena so I would suggest you accost her with your ideas. I am forced to endure your incessant questioning during class, Miss Granger; I should not also be made to tolerate it in my free time."

"Forgive me, professor," the witch replied with a slightly amused smile on her face at their charade. He grunted in response, turned on his heel and left.

"Unpleasant git," Harry murmured, taking the seat opposite her.

"He's a professor, Harry," she sighed, "and a brilliant one at that."

"Yes, a brilliant professor who makes me feel like an idiot and berates me every chance he gets."

"Well, someone ought to. Too many people fawn all over you." He gasped in mock horror. "I'm sorry, but aren't you the same wizard who's constantly whinging about only being seen as the boy-who-lived and the famous Harry Potter?" she asked sweetly.

"I don't whinge," he harrumphed.

"Oh, you most certainly do," she countered. "It's good for you to have some loyal opposition. Builds character."

"Loyal?"

"You don't honestly doubt Professor Snape's loyalties, do you?"

"Loyal to Dumbledore perhaps," he conceded with a frown.

"Same difference. If you trust the headmaster then you trust Professor Snape as well."

He let it go. After a moment, he gestured to her books. "I can't believe you're focusing on Arithmancy at a time like this. Have you even looked at the books Dumbledore gave you?"

Hermione was gazing down the stack of books towards the exit with an odd half smile on her face, thinking over what the professor had said and whether he was still lurking about in the library.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, glancing to where she was looking before turning back to her. "Hermione!"

"What?" she asked, snapping her eyes back to his.

"What's the matter? You're .. in a daze or something... Are you alright?" His brows furrowed in worry.

"Fine," she said, shaking her head as though clearing it. "I'm studying because exams are just weeks away and of course I've been looking at the books," she finished with a slight huff.

Harry looked down at her Arithmancy text, clearly not finding it worth the trouble, before glancing back at her. "Exams are more like months away, Hermione." He rushed on when it looked like she had a retort. "Did you find anything in them?"

She shook her head, still looking a bit preoccupied. "No. Nothing we didn't already know."

"Splendid," he quipped.

"What are you doing here anyway?" she asked. "I thought you were with Ron doing Quidditch something or other."

"We were, but then the Hufflepuffs came 'round for a pick-up game and we lost interest. They cheer just as hard when they lose as when they win... what's the point?"

She chuckled softly. "They are one step away from giving out Participation medals to the losing team, aren't they?"

"Exactly," he replied with a smile. "It's pointless. At least Slytherins know how to lose properly; hateful glares, wordless hexing and all that." She laughed again. "How are you otherwise?" He suddenly turned serious. "Are you ok?"

"Yes, Harry, I'm fine," she said with a smile.

"Only you seem a bit distracted is all."

"Distracted is good." She glanced towards the exit again and Harry began to wonder if she wanted him to leave.

"I suppose," he said reluctantly.

* * *

><p>"Draco. Come in. Sit," the potions master said, gesturing to the wing-backed leather chair facing his desk.<p>

"Severus," the blond-headed clone of Lucius replied, striding into the office as though he owned it.

_Just as arrogant as his father_, Severus snarled internally. "I've asked you repeatedly to address me in a respectful manner whilst at school, Draco. Do you imagine I speak just to hear my own voice?"

The boy flopped into the chair, crossing his legs and tilting his head in a most insolent manner. "My apologies, _professor_," he replied with a slight sneer to his lips.

Severus leaned back into his seat; flicking his wrist towards the table in front of the boy, he conjured a tea set. "Tea?" The boy nodded and leaned forward to prepare a cup. If Severus did not know the boy and his features so well, he would have missed it, but the boy was wary. _Good_, he thought with a mental smirk.

He allowed the boy to prepare his tea quietly without initiating the purpose of the meeting, letting Draco stew in his own nervousness for a bit. He even picked up his quill and resumed marking the essays in front of him as the boy drank his tea. Finally, after some minutes, he raised his head and put his quill down.

"So, Draco?" he began, folding his hands on his desk in front of him. "I trust the term is going well."

He arched an eyebrow at that; though it was not unusual for Severus to have such meetings with his charges, it was his first of the term with Draco.

"Well enough," he responded with a shrug.

"And how are your revisions going?"

"Fine," he replied, sipping his tea.

"Head Boy duties?"

"Have you received any complaints regarding my duties, professor?" He scowled.

"Certainly not," Severus conceded. "In fact, you have been remarkably quiet this term. I can't remember the last time someone complained of you picking on a Gryffindor... Well, aside from that incident at the beginning of the year."

"What?" He looked up from his cup with a furrowed brow. "Oh! You mean the mudblood?"

Severus cringed inwardly at the word. "Yes," he replied neutrally.

Draco shrugged. "A bit hasty that was, I admit. I had hoped it might not be too late to turn over a new leaf with her."

Severus' eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. "I beg your pardon?" he sneered.

"She hasn't grown up half bad, that one. Who would have thought that bloody bookworm would've grown up to be so fuckable?" His blue eyes flashed in excitement.

Severus tamped his emotions down into the pit of his being, somehow resisting the urge to hex the blond wizard's bits off. "Surely she is beneath your notice, Draco." He inflected his tone with a touch of disgust.

"Oh, absolutely. It's not as if I would take her home to mum and dad," he said with a snort. "Just a few fucks before term's over." He ran his tongue over his lips maliciously as he gazed into the fire.

"Hmm," Severus intoned. "Yes, well, as interesting as I find your love life, Draco, it's not why I called you here."

"Why did you then?" He returned his cool gaze to the potions master.

"The headmaster has seen you roaming the school at all hours of the night." It was a bluff. Severus didn't know whether Draco had been roaming the halls; he didn't even know whether the headmaster were capable of knowing such things.

"I am Head Boy," Draco responded, unflustered. "It's part of my duty."

"Is it?" Severus drawled. The boy nodded nonchalantly, his gaze flicking to the fireplace as though he expected Dumbledore to burst in on them. "Do many Slytherins pace the seventh floor hallway at all hours of the night?"

Draco's eyes snapped to his. He could have entered his mind and found the answers himself, but Severus just stared at the boy, wanting him to confess on his own. Severus had a feeling he might find some use for such a memory.

"It's not a crime, is it?" he finally answered, carefully setting his teacup down and re-crossing his legs.

"It's curious," Severus replied. "Whatever are you doing in the Room of Requirement?"

Draco's foot began tapping slightly, belying his nervousness. "Nothing," he said, eyes locked on the potions master's. "I don't do anything in there. It's... quiet. I like it... for revisions and such."

Severus chuckled. "Come now. Do I look like I was born yesterday?" The boy's mouth opened, clearly ready with a retort. "I would be careful with whatever you say next, Draco," he half-growled, the threat clear in his voice.

The boy's tapping grew slightly louder. The potions master said nothing else; just fixed his gaze on him. _He's so weak_, Severus thought.

Draco's eyes closed and he took a deep breath; when he opened them, he seemed infinitely calmer. The tapping stopped and he returned his full gaze to his Head of House. "I was not aware that Head students aren't allowed into the Room of Requirement. I'll stay away from now on. Was that all, professor?" he finished coolly.

Severus gave a small smile and saw the boy try to hold back his surprise. A smile from the potions master was more fearsome than any glare or scowl.

"Indeed," he replied with a small incline of his head. "You are free to leave."

* * *

><p><strong>AN So, we're about caught up with my writing at this point... so updates will slow down - maybe one every other day. I'll try my best for three or four updates a week :) Thanks for the support and encouragement!**

**Coming up: Hermione's answer, more talk of Horcruxes and struggles for Severus**


	23. Needs

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 23: Needs<strong>

"_Fizzing Whizbees,_" the professor snarled on his way up to Dumbledore's office. "Draco took them," he announced upon entering the old wizard's study and finding him alone.

"Draco?" the headmaster replied, leaning back in his chair.

"So it would seem," the potions master concurred, dropping into one of the armchairs.

"How do you know?"

"You doubt my abilities with a seventh year, headmaster?" he drawled, cocking his head to the side.

"Really, must you be so sensitive, Severus?" the headmaster chided gently. "I am simply curious as to how you received this information."

"The way I receive most of my information, Albus. I slipped in and took it."

"You used Legilimancy on a student?"

The potions master raised his eyebrows at that. "I'm sorry. Is that forbidden?" he mocked with a hand draped on his chest. "Because I seem to remember you asking me to use it on your Chosen One a few years ago."

"That was different," the headmaster argued halfheartedly. "And he's not _my_ chosen one."

The professor snorted. "No matter. The point is, the boy took the items from the Room of Requirement and brought them to the Dark Lord. There can be little doubt as to what he plans to do with them; nothing in the books I've researched indicate any difficulties in turning an object into a Horcrux, no matter how powerful."

"Even the Sword?"

"One would imagine."

"Oh, dear," the headmaster said, suddenly looking very much his age.

He turned in his seat and faced the window, looking out over the grounds as he absentmindedly rubbed the scar from his severed finger.

After twenty years of service, Severus was familiar with the routine. Albus would take the information and gaze out his bloody window as he processed it; all the while expecting Severus to sit there patiently awaiting his deduction, as though the potions master had nothing better to do with his time. The girl started to wiggle her way into his thoughts, wondering how she had processed what he'd told her earlier. _No time for that_, he mentally scolded himself. _Especially not in such precarious territory_, he thought, glancing at the headmaster. He pushed her out of his mind and focused on the old wizard who was suddenly turning back towards him.

"Curious that Tom should exclude you from so many things, don't you think, Severus?"

The professor's bottomless eyes narrowed. "Indeed."

"Perhaps he is questioning your loyalty."

"Perhaps," Severus concurred with a shrug.

"This does not bother you?"

"Clearly not as much as it does you," he drawled in a warning tone. "My role with the Dark Lord has not changed. I have done what he has asked of me. I have never refused him anything. Why he suddenly sees fit to include Draco -" He spread his palms. "I do not know."

The headmaster nodded slowly. "Perhaps you should spend more time in their midst, Severus. I know you find their gatherings distasteful, but -"

"Distasteful?" the potions master barked. "Yes, that is one way of describing it," he snarled.

"Severus -"

"It's alright, Albus." He stood up to leave. "Clearly I have not been performing to your expectations. I shall do better," he called over his shoulder on his way out.

* * *

><p>Hermione wasn't sure why she stayed away the rest of the day; why she didn't run down to the dungeons immediately to give the professor her answer.<p>

She wasn't teasing him; of course, she wasn't. But something told her that allowing some time to pass was the correct course of action, maybe even a day or two; that way he could not back out on the argument that she hadn't given the matter enough thought. And so she whiled the day away in her studies, attending lunch in the Great Hall (the professor was notably absent), and forcing Ron and Harry to revise, coaching them on things they really ought to know by now.

Following dinner, which the professor also elected to skip, Hermione could not take it anymore. She felt she would burst if she didn't see him before the day was out. And so she stealthily made her way down to the dungeon, sticking close to the shadowy wall so as to evade the notice of anyone walking the halls. She met no one on her way and slipped into the Potions classroom undetected.

She expected him to be in his office, but there he was, seated at his desk, head down, slashing his quill across the parchment. She felt an unaccountable surge of affection for the man flow through her and a quiet smile crossed her face. He didn't look up when she entered though she was sure he had noticed her. She just stood there watching him for a moment.

"You have a habit of entering rooms without announcing yourself," he finally said with more than a note of exasperation.

"I'm sorry," she said leaning back a bit and giving the door behind her a tiny knock.

"Impertinent girl," he said under his breath.

Still, the witch said nothing, though he could feel her eyes on him. Why didn't she speak? What more could he possibly say to her? No, he thought, no. He had said quite enough; anything further would have to come from her. And so he resolutely kept his eyes on the parchment in front of him and tried not to sneak a peek at the girl. _Let her stand there all night if it pleases her_, he thought with a huff.

She needed to do something, Hermione thought. She shouldn't just keep standing here watching him, but all of a sudden she felt a hint of bashfulness come over her. She was about to tell her potions master, the professor she had known since she was eleven, the teacher who had done nothing but mock and deride ... and challenge her for seven years that she wanted him. To buy time she started walking forward slowly, keeping her eyes on the top of his ebony head.

When she was halfway down the row of tables he looked up, putting his quill down and watching the rest of her progress. His eyes made a leisurely sweep down her body; no doubt taking in her snug top and loose jeans (she still hadn't put back on enough weight for them to fit properly) and she was wrought with conflicting emotions. What was he seeing? she thought as she came to a stop in front of his desk. Was he seeing the young witch he had desired so evidently in the alcove, in the library, in this very room? Or was he seeing the girl he had taught for the last seven years? The endlessly questioning chit who had been nothing but a constant thorn in his side? She suddenly wished she had changed into something else, but it could not be helped. His eyes, when they made their way to hers, were unreadable.

"I'm sorry Harry interrupted us," she said hesitantly, arms hanging at her sides.

"Hardly your fault," he murmured, dropping his eyes to his desk momentarily.

_Oh, the hell with it_, she thought.

"Yes," she said clearly. "My answer is yes."

His eyes snapped back up to hers and narrowed. "Yes?" he repeated.

"Yes," she affirmed with a smile.

He took a hitched breath and leaned back in his chair; his eyes drifting to the tabletop while his long fingers played over the parchment sitting there. _Well, that wasn't quite the reception I was going for_, Hermione thought, frowning as she looked down at the wizard.

Suddenly, it hit her. "Have you changed your mind?" she asked, something in her stuttering at the notion.

His eyes flicked back up to her, softening as they appraised her. "Miss Granger… The truth is I should reconsider. Times are uncertain and it seems... unfair to place you in such a position."

"It's only three months, less even," she whispered with a shake of her head although a small part of her brain was already thinking ahead and - at least partly - agreeing with him.

"A lot can happen in three months," he replied with a sigh.

She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the tears that were frightfully close to falling. Why was she so fucking emotional these days? she thought angrily.

She turned her face to the side, biting on her lower lip forcefully; not sure what to say to him, suddenly wishing she hadn't come here. She heard him get up from his seat and come around to her. He gripped her upper arms and turned her to him but she still stubbornly refused to look up. He took her chin in hand and tilted it up so she was forced to meet his eyes. They were black; fathomless, bottomless oceans... and she was suddenly frightened of how intensely he made her feel with just the slightest touch. His thumb ghosted over her mouth, pulling her bottom lip, letting out a small grunt when it popped free.

"Men have gone into battle for lips less luscious than yours." She gasped softly at his words, opening her mouth around his thumb.

Fuck this siren of a witch and what she did to him, he thought manically as he gripped her face and covered her mouth with his.

There was no hesitation in either of them now; her hands clasped desperately at his coat, pulling him closer while he controlled the tilt of her head as he plunged his tongue into her mouth. She pulled him even closer, swirling her tongue with his, moaning deliciously into him, curving her body to get greater contact. He had to oblige her; dropping his hands from her face, he lifted her up and placed her on the desk, scattering the parchment. The little minx immediately opened her legs, indicating clearly where she wanted him to be. He stepped into the hollow of her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the desk so he could grind himself against her. She threw her head back and moaned as she pressed her breasts against him, pushing his face to her neck. He suckled at her salty, sweet skin as his hands explored the curve of her back and swell of her breasts. He captured her lips with his again, desperate to taste her as much as he could.

Suddenly nothing was enough; her tongue in his mouth wasn't enough, her hands on his neck - in his hair - would not suffice, her legs wrapped around his waist simply would not do. He wanted more, so much more, he thought somewhat angrily as he vented his frustration in their kiss; in the way he gripped her thighs, the force with which he thrust against her, trying to break through their clothing.

He wanted to absorb her into him somehow, shrink her down and place her in his core where she would always be with him; always be safe, always be his. A small, distant part of his brain was protesting all of this; telling him it was dangerous to care so much about her, that it was foolish to be so obsessed with her even as it conceded that no witch had ever made him feel this way.

She was moaning into his mouth, her small delicate hands fiddling with the buttons on his coat even as his own hands began undoing the buttons on her shirt. The small, distant part of his brain started getting louder, protesting these developments and with a mighty effort he pulled away from her. He untangled her legs from around him and captured her hands, placing them in her lap. She looked up at him with a confused expression; hair wild and lips swollen.

"We cannot do this, Miss Granger," he protested, pushing her hands more firmly into her lap before taking a step back.

"You know?" she began with a smirk, leaning back with her palms flat on the desk. "I'd be better able to keep my hands to myself if I knew that by the end of June I wouldn't have to."

_Cheeky wench,_ he thought as his cock twitched excitedly.

"You're mad," he said instead. "Do you know that? You're mad for even considering my proposal." He winced internally at his choice of words but she did not seem to register it.

"I want you," she said with a shrug. "I can't articulate it. I can't explain it. It just is." She shrugged again, meeting his gaze.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to rein in his arousal and focus on what she was saying. "And I you, Miss Granger."

She cocked her head to the side. "Don't you think you should call me Hermione?"

"I believe… formal address… would be more appropriate for now," he said, sighing as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"For now?" she asked, perking up. "So you haven't reconsidered?"

He looked at her; at the beautiful, intelligent, strong witch sitting on his desk. He should tell her no, say that it was all a big mistake and that she should go. But he just shook his head in defeat. "No, I have not reconsidered."

She blew out her breath as though she'd been holding it for ages and gave him a wide, happy smile that nearly stole his breath.

"However, I cannot emphasize enough how imperative it is that nothing - _nothing_ - can occur between us until you have left school." She nodded her understanding. "It cannot be overstated, Miss Granger. Nothing can happen."

She nodded again, hopping off the desk, adjusting her top and patting down her hair.

He watched it all curiously; no witch had ever moved the way she did, no witch had ever fascinated him so by doing the most mundane things. He shook his head again.

"I will not have your reputation at this school besmirched, nor will I tolerate anyone casting aspersions on your grades."

"Huh." She looked up at him and put her hands on her hips. "I hadn't even thought of that," she said with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"And don't think of it now either, you impertinent girl," he chided.

She giggled enticingly at that and smiled at him again. _Two beaming smiles in one night_, he thought idly, _I must be doing something right._

"I will be on my best behavior," she said. "I promise." He nodded at that. "I should probably go."

"That would be best, I think," he agreed.

She gave him another smile and squeezed his arm gently as she passed him. "Good night, Severus," she said over her shoulder. He grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him; his features arranged in some unreadable expression as he studied her. "Sorry," she said, eyes on his lips. "I forgot."

His fingers flexed on her upper arms as he gazed at her. "Say it again," he commanded.

"Severus," she whispered.

He pulled her into him; capturing her lips smoothly, delighting in the whimper that emerged from her. One hand went to her face, tilting it to the side to deepen the kiss while the other ghosted down her side. He wrapped his arm around her small waist and pulled her into him, bending his torso so as not to sacrifice the depth of the kiss. She held his palm to her face with one hand while the other went to the back of his head, pulling him closer, invading his mouth with her soft tongue, wrenching a groan from him.

He pulled away, pushing her back at the same time. He frowned at her like it was her fault and she just gave him a small smile in reply.

His shoulders slumped and he removed his hands from her. "Go," he said running his fingers through his hair again. "Go now."


	24. Interlude, Part I

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24: Interlude, Part I<strong>

The next couple of weeks passed slowly and awkwardly for both Severus and Hermione. They kept their distance from one another so as to forgo any temptation; Hermione did not return to brewing with the professor and he spent most of his time in the dungeons, or so Hermione presumed, considering she hardly ever saw him outside of class and meals.

Class was another issue altogether; Hermione tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy, raising her hand to answer questions, enduring his biting comments when she helped the boys. Sometimes she knew he was just playing the part; she would catch a slight gleam in his eyes when he looked at her or a small twitching of his lips to indicate amusement at something she did or said, such as when she provided a five minute explanation for one of his 'Yes or No' questions. However, other times, she was not so sure.

At other times, she was almost convinced that it had all been a dream; that he was still nothing but her surly, cantankerous professor, who saw her as nothing but Harry's annoying friend. At times like these, a painful constriction would take up residence in her chest and she would feel a flutter of panic that things were slipping away and out of her control. At times like that, she was tempted to stay behind after class and maneuver him into embracing her somehow, but she never did. She was a Gryffindor, damn it. And she could survive the next couple of months with her confidence intact.

For his part, Severus simply pretended nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, as though the past few weeks had been a dream and she was nothing more or less than the annoying chit he had endured for the last seven years. He had always been good at compartmentalizing; one had to be in order to master Occlumency after all, and he utilized all his skills in those weeks, ignoring her eyes and hair and lips and all the other myriad attributes that refused to let him be. He had not been this obsessed with a witch since… _well, no; best not to think about that_, he mused as he pushed his dinner around his plate, trying to resist the urge to sneak a look at the Gryffindor table. And so when he wasn't in class or the Great Hall, he was keeping tabs on Draco (who was no longer frequenting the Room of Requirement) or leaving the castle to attend various functions held at Malfoy Manor in an attempt to reinsert himself in their social circle.

* * *

><p>"Dumbledore thinks the Horcruxes might be artifacts belonging to the founders," Harry said abruptly as they were revising in Hermione's room during the week.<p>

"Artifacts?" Hermione repeated, pushing her hair out of the way as she looked at her friend. "Why?"

"He said he had a feeling," Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"A feeling?" Ron countered. "He expects us to go looking for Horcruxes based on a _feeling_?"

"I suppose." Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Sounds like Dumbledore might be losing it a bit," Ron supplied. Harry nodded his agreement, seeming entirely too disturbed by the possibility.

"I suppose it makes sense in a way," Hermione mused. "The Dark Lord has always been a bit obsessed with Hogwarts, hasn't he? He kept coming back looking to get a job here, didn't he Harry?"

"Yeah, but Dumbledore thought it was because he wanted to recruit people to his side."

"I have no doubt that he did," Hermione agreed. "But I think another part of him just wants to prove he's the most powerful wizard who ever lived; more powerful than Dumbledore or you or maybe even the Founders themselves."

"It's possible, I suppose," Harry agreed reluctantly.

"How would he get any of the relics out of Hogwarts though?" Ron asked.

"I'm sure there are hundreds of the Founders' artifacts floating around the continent," Hermione supplied.

"Lovely," Harry muttered, running his fingers through his unruly hair. Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. "You know we're going to have to go looking for these once school is over?"

"I know," she said.

"I mean Dumbledore hasn't explicitly said it, but it will have to be me."

"I know," she repeated with a frown. "But we'll be there too, right Ron?"

"Of course, mate," the redhead replied with mock cheer. "Been that way since first year, hasn't it?"

"This isn't a troll in a bathroom, Ron," Harry snapped.

"I know," the wizard replied, unruffled by his friend's tone. "All I meant is that we'll help… me and Hermione. We always have… no reason for that to end now." Hermione nodded her agreement.

"You don't understand. This is different. It's real. It's dangerous." Hermione's amber eyes flashed at him and Harry immediately opened his mouth to backtrack.

"You think I don't realize how _real_ this is?" the witch hissed at him, her face more fierce than it had ever been.

"Hermione, I –"

"You think I don't realize how _dangerous _it is?"

"That's not what I meant –"

"Well, what _exactly _did you mean, Harry?" she shot at him.

"I'm sorry," he replied, head down. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

She said nothing; just flipped open her book, rather violently, and started reading.

"Hermione?" he tried again.

"It's fine," she bit out, "just… it's fine, whatever."

Harry shared a look with Ron who quirked his lips and shrugged before picking his book back up and going back to revisions. Harry sighed and flipped open his text as well.

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><p>Hermione walked through the corridors later that week, on her way to the library to try and revise in peace in the little nook she had claimed as hers since first year.<p>

The seventh years seemed to have realized how devastatingly close NEWTs were and had begun hounding her in the Great Hall, before and after class and whenever she was in the common room for study tips, explanations and general help. It was getting to the point where the only place she could revise in peace was in her room or her nook in the library. Neville had begun dropping not so subtle hints that perhaps Hermione could start a NEWTs revision group; she was seriously beginning to consider it as at least then all these questions and issues could be dealt with at once and she wouldn't be hounded all day.

Making her way down the third floor hallway, she caught sight of Remus coming from the other direction. She gave him a smile and slowed down to greet him.

"Hello, Hermione," he said affectionately, coming to a stop before her.

"Hi, Remus," she replied, coming to a stop as well.

"How are things?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at the heavy load of books she was carrying.

"Good, good," she said, shuffling the load in her arms. "Just on my way to study," she added, nodding in the direction before her.

"Of course, NEWTs are just a few weeks away."

"Exactly," she agreed.

He tilted his head at the books. "Why haven't you shrunk those to make it easier to carry?" he asked with a small smirk.

She looked down at the books, quirking her brows and shook her head. "You know? I've no idea." She gave a shrug as she smiled up at him. "I suppose it's the Muggle in me."

He gave a chuckle of amusement, reaching out and relieving her of half her load. "Well then, let's both be Muggles. Come on, I'll walk you to the library."

She nodded, thanking him and continuing on her way. He fell in step beside her, a comfortable quiet descending on the pair as they walked through the corridor.

"I spoke with Samuel," Remus remarked as they were nearing the library doors.

"Did you?" she replied with a smile at the werewolf's attempt at subtlety.

"I did," he said with a nod. "Are you okay?"

She entered the library before him, leading the way down one of the tall stacks of books, unconsciously breathing in the beloved scent of parchment and ink.

"Considering I'm the one who ended it, I ought to be, don't you think?" she responded, turning a corner and moving deeper into the stacks.

"Not necessarily," he countered. "Samuel told me what your reasoning was. You could be upset regardless of you being the instigator."

"I had no idea Samuel took you as such a confidante," she commented blandly.

"We get on rather well," Remus replied with a shrug. "Reminds me of James to be honest," he added in a softer tone and Hermione turned to him with a sympathetic look. He shook himself from his thoughts and continued, "He doesn't have many friends here to speak to of these things and I know he was rather taken with you."

"I know," she said with a sigh, coming to a stop at her table.

He came up to her side and placed the load down; watching her sit and begin removing her things from her bag. "I thought you were going to give it some time."

"I did," she replied, looking up at him. "The feelings just aren't there, Remus. I did try, but I can't… I can't deal with this right now. I'm under enough stress as it is." She felt herself getting defensive, even though she knew the wolf was not attacking her.

"Please don't misunderstand me, Hermione," he said with a concerned look. "I will support whatever decision you make and of course, I see the stress you're under. I was just wondering if you wanted to discuss it; whether you were sure and happy with your decision."

"I am," she replied, looking up and meeting his eye.

"That's all I wanted to know," he said with a shrug and a smile. "I really didn't mean to make it sound like I was on his side. And just because Samuel confided in me does not mean I will relay anything you and I speak of to him; I hope you know that," he added, brows furrowing in earnest.

"I do, Remus," she replied with an answering smile. "It was the right thing to do," she added with a firm nod. "I know it."

"Alright," he conceded, giving her another smile. "I will let you get on with your revisions then." He nodded towards the books spread out across the table.

"Thank you, Remus," she said sincerely.

"I meant what I said, before," he added. "I am here for you should you need me."

"I know," she replied. "And I appreciate it; truly."

"Wonderful." He smiled and gave an affectionate pat to her arm before bidding her goodbye and making his way back down the stack.

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><p><strong>AN The next couple of chapters are for transition purposes... consequently, you may find them a bit boring :p I appreciate you bearing with me though :D**


	25. Interlude, Part II

**Chapter 25: Interlude, Part II**

"No, Neville," Hermione said with a sigh as she went back over to her friend. "You have to flick the wand down sharply and then bring it back up and to the right in a gentle arc." She stood before him and demonstrated the movement – for what must have been the fifteenth time that hour – without saying the accompanying incantation.

They were nearing the end of the inaugural session for the NEWTs revision group Hermione had consented to leading. About thirty seventh years in all, from all Houses - save Slytherin - had opted to join in the group. They had agreed to meet in the Room of Requirement, which would assume a form closer to the practice room they had used for Dumbledore's Army in fifth year, two to three times a week to go over revisions for all ten NEWT subjects. The arrangement worked well primarily as Hermione had opted for all subjects and would be able to go through revisions for each of them.

"I'm trying, Hermione," Neville said with a slight whine in his tone as he tried again to perform the spell.

"I know," she replied in a placating tone. "You're doing fine. You just need a bit more practice, that's all."

"Yeah, practice and a miracle maybe," Seamus commented with chuckle, having managed to perform the spell – without blowing anything up – on the second try.

"Just wait till we get to Transfiguration, Seamus," Harry retorted, smirking at the scowl that appeared on his roommate's face.

Neville sent Harry a grateful smile and tried the spell again as Hermione moved over to another group.

She spent another half hour going over the schedule for revisions that she'd prepared, magically creating copies and sending them over to her classmates. They were aiming to fit in a bit of everything into each session; starting with the more common subjects which most everyone was sitting a NEWT for and moving down the line to the lesser popular subjects like Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, which really only consisted of Hermione and the Ravenclaw students. It seemed like the most efficient way of going about it as her classmates could leave for good once their topics had been covered rather than returning to catch another subject later.

"Okay," Hermione finally said, once last minute corrections and edits to the schedule had been made. "So, I'll see you all on Monday. Please make sure you go through the chapters and sections I indicated for you so that we're all on the same page and we don't waste any time."

That done, she, Harry and Ron left the room and made their way back downstairs towards the Tower; the boys discussing the success of the first meeting and promising to be all caught up on their reading by the time the next one came around.

"I heard about your little study group, Granger."

Hermione and the boys turned as one, scowling at Draco who leaned nonchalantly against the wall.

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron sneered, tugging on Hermione's robe to get her to turn away, beckoning Harry to follow.

"I noticed no Slytherins came out," Draco said, coming up beside them and planting himself in their tracks. "Hardly an example of school spirit."

"I wasn't in charge of the guest list," Hermione replied with a scowl as they tried to bypass the blond wizard.

"Come on, don't be like that," he said in a cajoling tone, coming around to face them again.

"Malfoy," Harry began in a warning tone, emerald eyes narrowing.

"Maybe I need help with Charms," he cut in, ignoring Harry and directing his words to Hermione.

She planted her hands on her hips and fixed him in her stare. "You're the _second _best student in this school," she began, deliberately stressing the word. "I doubt you need any help."

He sneered at her; hating the reminder that he had yet to best her in any subject.

"You're not as clever as you think you are, Granger," he snarled. "In fact, as I heard it, you can be downright moronic at times," he added with a smirk, giving a meaningful glance at the robe pocket where her wand would be stowed.

She felt the magic course through her at his insinuation and saw Harry and Ron whip out their wands and adopt offensive stances. Draco just stood there though, holding the look on his face as he regarded them disdainfully.

"I can wipe that smirk off your ugly face, Malfoy," Harry said menacingly, taking a step forward.

"I would suggest that you don't, Mr. Potter."

The trio turned as one and saw Professor Snape approach them, lips curled in what looked like disgust as he glared down his nose at the Gryffindors.

The witch lowered her eyes from his as he came up to them while her two protectors reluctantly sheathed their wands. It did not escape Severus' notice that none of the Gryffindors even tried explaining the situation to him, having – no doubt – grown accustomed to his favoring of Slytherin. _As if I have a choice_, he thought with a mental sneer as he took in the smug look on Malfoy's face.

"I suggest you vacate the hallway while I am in so generous a mood," he drawled in a warning tone.

The girl tugged on her friends' sleeves, managing to get them to walk away, although Potter did throw a last sneer at the blond wizard, the threat clear in his eyes before following the girl and redhead down the hall.

Draco had a lascivious smile on his lips as he watched the girl walk down the hall and Snape struggled with his own desire to hex the wizard's bollocks off. The trio turned the corner, out of sight, and the blond turned to him with a smile and mocking incline of his head before wordlessly striding off in the opposite direction.

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><p><em>The next day<em>

_Thank Merlin class is over_, Severus thought as he watched the N.E.W.T. levels pack up their things to leave.

He had spent nearly the entire previous night at a particularly dark revel, or perhaps it just seemed that way to him since he hadn't attended them this regularly in so long. Being so close to the Dark Lord and so high in his ranks, not to mention his responsibilities at Hogwarts, gave him certain leeway in avoiding the wretched affairs. But given Dumbledore's lack of satisfaction with his performance, Severus chose to attend the previous night's event, with the result of the sound of muggle screams and cries ringing in his ears horrifically all day long.

He had been more of a bastard than usual that day; snapping at anything and anyone who dared cross his path. He really should have asked Dumbledore to fill his classes, but his pride had not let him. He would not succumb to the temptation to wallow in misery over the poor souls he could do nothing for.

He tried to tell himself that he had done them a kindness, he was merciful; killing them quickly rather than spending hours torturing them. Lucius thought he was going soft, losing his spine; had indeed insinuated as much when Severus had cast an instantly fatal slicing hex on a nine-year old girl rather than draw it out, but the potions master simply ignored him. Stumbling back to his chambers at four in the morning, Severus downed a bottle of Firewhiskey before falling into bed.

Shaking the memories from his head, Severus noticed that the girl had not left with her friends. She was standing at the back table, looking at him with a questioning and peculiar expression as though trying to puzzle out his countenance.

"Did you need something, Granger?" he grunted as he sent stray ingredients and vials flying back to their places.

"Are you alright?" she asked, coming forward to his desk.

"Perfect," he bit out. "What do you want?"

She stopped in her stride, halfway to his desk, eyes widening at his harsh tone. _She's already forgetting what a bastard I am, _he thought with a mental wince.

She shook her head slightly and kept striding forward. "Did you find the Sword?" she asked.

He turned to face her, taken aback by the random question. That's not what he had expected her to say. "Why do you ask?" he replied, recovering quickly.

"I was just wondering," she replied, tilting her head as she watched him; her big amber eyes trailing all over his form as though looking for some malady.

"You never just wonder Miss Granger," he sighed. "Spit it out." He sat down in his chair, leaning back and lifting his eyes to her.

"Dumbledore told Harry he thinks the Horcruxes may be artifacts which belonged to Hogwarts Founders, so I was wondering if you had found the Sword or not."

Severus contemplated this for a moment, his index finger lightly tracing his thin upper lip as he looked at the girl. "You've met with the headmaster?" he finally asked, his tone low and slightly menacing.

"No," she responded with a quizzical look. "Harry has."

"I see."

"It's just," she began, her gaze lifting to the ceiling as she organized her thoughts before meeting his again. "If Gryffindor's Sword is indeed capable of destroying Horcruxes, and I thought my reasoning was sound in that regard." He snorted at that, even as he quietly admired her confidence in her own intellect. "I don't see how it could function as a Horcrux."

"It could not."

"No, it couldn't," she agreed, biting her lower lip as she contemplated the dilemma.

He sat in his chair, watching her worry that lip while his erection twitched to life in his trousers. _Fucking witch,_ he thought somewhat angrily.

"Stop that," he growled.

"Stop what?" she asked, taken aback by his tone. He cocked an eyebrow at her before lowering his eyes to her lips. "Oh," she finished quietly. "I rather thought you liked it." A mischievous gleam came to her eyes at that.

His lip curled into an ugly sneer. "You would do well not to toy with me, Granger," he snarled from his seat, radiating disapproval.

"I'm not…" She shook her head. "What's the matter with you? You're acting strange."

"Perhaps I just find our discussion exceedingly tiresome," he retorted.

Her features came together in a frown. "You wish me to go?"

"What was your first clue?" he responded snidely.

She backed up as though he had physically slapped her and something akin to guilt went through him, but he was still too mired in last night's activities to care. All he wanted was to retire to his chambers for the rest of the evening; solitude his only companion until he was far enough removed from muggle screams and wide-eyed terror to function normally.

She nodded, seemingly to herself, before turning her back on him and making her way to the other end of the room. She picked up her bag from the back worktable and approached the door while he tamped down on his urge to call her back and apologize. _It's better if she just leaves, _he thought with a weary sigh as her hand paused on the doorknob. She turned to him and he held his breath.

She opened her mouth to say something, closed it again and shook her head as she pulled the door open and left.

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><p><strong>AN Ugh, the last two chapters have been a pain to write, but things should start picking up from here.**

**Coming up: Severus and Hermione dance around this tentative situation of theirs, some Legilimency and a side of revenge** **;)**

**On an altogether separate note: If any of you (and I know some of you have :D) read my story "The Story of Us", then you're familiar with the chapter titled "The Kiss". I have this image in my head which was kind of a prompt for that chap; the image is basically this line "I climbed onto the bed at that point, sitting on my knees as I watched you sleep; wondering what had happened to you that night, how bad it had been, how many times you had endured this over the years." It's basically a mental image of Hermione sitting on her knees on Severus' big bed while he lays there after she's treated him. **

**Here's the point to all that babbling :p I'm a crap artist and would love, LoVe, LOVE if someone could sketch a rendering of that image for me. So, if any of you out there are good at that sort of thing and are looking for a new "prompt" as it were, I'd be over-the-moon if you would oblige me :D **

**PM me if you're interest. I don't have money, but there are virtual hugs, cookies and House Points in it for you ;) **

**-LDaemon**


	26. Interlude, Part III

**A/N So this story is chugging along... slowly but surely... I have my outline done, I just need to start typing it all up. This is the last Interlude :p I'm sure you're all as relieved as I am :p **

**Thanks so much for the continued support and encouragement. It means more than you know :)**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 27: Interlude, Part III<strong>

Hermione ignored her urge to go to Severus. She hated the way things had ended between them and while she knew she had done nothing wrong, she was equally certain that he could not (or would not) seek her out to apologize. _Perhaps he doesn't feel the need to apologize at all, _she thought as she sat out by the lake the next morning; going through Dumbledore's books while the boys had Quidditch practice. She thought about the dark wizard; he was an enigma, she would not claim to understand him at all, indeed she barely even knew him. What was his childhood like? How did he perform at school? What interests or hobbies did he have? She knew none of these things and as she gazed out at the Giant Squid breaking the surface of the lake, she wondered if she ever would.

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><p>"I'm sorry," Hermione began as she stirred her tea. "Are we waiting for Professor Snape?"<p>

Hermione, Ron and Harry were gathered in the headmaster's office later that day, ostensibly to discuss the Horcrux business.

"No, no Miss Granger," the old wizard replied kindly. "I'm afraid we'll have to make do without Severus this afternoon as he is otherwise engaged."

"I see," she replied, though truly she did not see at all. Had he been summoned? It was mid-afternoon, she thought as she gazed out the window.

"I'm sure Harry has told you my thoughts on the identity of the Horcruxes," Dumbledore said. "Or at least some of them."

"How many do you think there are, professor?" Hermione asked. "My reading suggests that seven might be the most any wizard could make."

"I had thought that as well," the old wizard agreed.

"So, we'll aim for seven," Ron said with a firm nod.

"Yes," Dumbledore agreed; somewhat haltingly, Hermione thought. She caught the headmaster give Harry a sad look before shaking his head softly and turning his gaze back on all of them.

"So, the Ring, the Diary," Hermione began, counting them off on her fingers. "And four artifacts relating to Hogwarts. Headmaster? What about Gryffindor's Sword?"

"What about it?"

"Well," she cocked her head in puzzlement. "We agreed that it could destroy Horcruxes… It can't _also_ function as one."

The headmaster gave another brief glance at Harry. "I wouldn't think so, Miss Granger."

"But we still have the Sword, right?" Harry asked.

"I'm afraid not, Harry," the headmaster said, placing his teacup on the table in front of him. "It seems to have gone missing."

All three sat up at this. "Missing?" Harry echoed. "How is it missing?"

"Professor Snape went to the Room of Requirement and found it missing," Dumbledore replied succinctly.

"We have to have the Sword, headmaster," Harry said.

"I am aware of that, Harry. We are trying to retrieve it. I have the Order on this now; we are utilizing all our sources towards its retrieval."

"I don't understand how something that important could just disappear," Harry replied, crossing his arms over his chest in a sulk.

"Are any other artifacts missing?" Hermione piped up. The headmaster's cool blue eyes turned to her; his mouth curving into an encouraging smile.

"Yes, Miss Granger," he replied. "Hufflepuff's Cup and Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem."

"Nothing from Slytherin?" she inquired.

"Most, if not all, of Salazar's artifacts have been missing from the school for years."

"Why?" Ron asked.

The headmaster shrugged. "Purebloods have been lifting his artifacts from Hogwarts for many years now."

"Ok," Hermione cut in. "So, two down; now we have to locate the Cup, Diadem, maybe the Sword, something of Slytherin's and … something else that we currently have no clue of?"

"Yes."

"Should be easy enough," Ron quipped. Harry shot him a glare, still clearly sulking.

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><p>Early the next morning found Hermione pacing back and forth in front of the Room of Requirement, visualizing it as the Room of Hidden Things she needed it to be. Opening the door once it was visible, she peeked in. Satisfied that it had taken the desired form, she stepped in and shut the door softly behind her. She walked down the center aisle, hand trailing lightly on the aged wooden tables holding countless relics of the wizarding world's history and she wondered, not for the first time, why this storeroom wasn't better protected.<p>

She turned a corner around a large black cabinet and saw Professor Snape. She stopped in her tracks and watched him. He didn't seem to notice her as she saw him waving his wand about (rather foolishly, she thought), casting protective charms and wards around the room.

"A bit late for that, don't you think?" she said, folding her arms across her chest.

"Mind your tone, Granger," he retorted.

So he had noticed her, she thought as she made her way towards him. "Why didn't you tell me the Sword was missing?"

He stopped with his wand held up and looked at her. "I assumed the headmaster would inform the Boy Wonder in due time."

"He did."

"Of course, he did," the professor scoffed, picking up his spell-casting again.

"What is your problem?" she asked, reaching the point of exasperation very quickly.

"My problem is with children doing an adult's job," he hissed, turning to face her. "My problem is with three ignorant children being invited to strategy meetings for a war we have been fighting for twenty years."

"It concerns Harry," she shot back. "The war was brought to Harry's feet; you don't think he has a right to be involved in the planning? He might _die_ for this –"

"We all might die for this!" he barked at her, nostrils flaring in anger.

She looked at him warily, her head tilting slightly with an odd grimace on her face and Severus was tempted to delve into her mind and see what she was thinking.

She gave a short mirthless laugh. "I don't know why people insist on reminding me that this is war… that people die during wars." She met his gaze, her amber eyes fathomless. "As though I don't realize what this could cost, what it has _already_ cost."

He lowered his wand to his side. "Miss Granger? I didn't mean to insinuate –"

"It's alright," she said, somewhat unconvincingly. "But perhaps you would do well to remember that we're not children anymore. None of us is." She shrugged.

"You are right," he conceded. "But Albus is a General. He should not be including you in so much of the planning. So much could go wrong. Potter is … rash and impulsive. He will make a mistake at some point and then all will be lost."

"I don't know why you and Dumbledore pin all your hopes on Harry," she suddenly said. "I know he's The Chosen One and everything, but he can't be the only one who can stop the Dark Lord." Severus was looking at her oddly.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Then enlighten me," she countered.

"This is why you should not be involved. It would require explaining something which you will be unable to grasp," he said dismissively, turning his back on her.

"Stop talking to me as though I'm a child," she snapped, advancing on him.

"You are very much a child, Granger," he turned on her, halting her advance. "And you and your little friends are playing with matters far beyond your ken."

"Yes, well Dumbledore doesn't seem to think so," she countered.

"Dumbledore is not infallible and you are not nearly as clever as you seem to think you are."

"Why are you being this way?" she shook her head, a piercing pain hitting her at his insult.

"This is how I am, nothing is different," he replied with a shrug, turning away from her again. "Or did you expect me to change for you?"

"Oh, so you're a caustic bastard with every witch you court?" she retorted. He turned and advanced on her, pushing her up against the opposite table and bending so his face was near hers.

"Precisely," he hissed. "And what if I told you they loved it?" he gripped her chin and tilted it up so she was forced to look him in the eye. "If you want nice, you should be with a Gryffindor."

"I'm sure you consider Samuel more of a Gryffindor!" she retorted sharply, yanking her chin from his grip.

He stopped short at that, taking several steps back. He kept his eyes locked on hers; seeing the fierce expression she held on her face and gave a sigh.

"Forgive me," he said, dropping his hands to his side. "I am a bastard, Miss Granger; always have been. I apologize for my words - both now and earlier; you don't deserve it and I've no excuse for it." He turned his back on her, running a hand through his hair. "I am trying to be mindful of your Gryffindor sensibilities. That's not an insult," he added quickly, turning to face her lest she think he was slighting her House. She simply stood there with a small smile on her face. "I am a bastard and that's not likely to change overnight," he continued with a sigh. "But I will try to ... hold my tongue. I only ask that you bear with me."

She took a step forward to him, sending his nerve endings prickling and his cock twitching at the thought that he might be able to hold her, touch her, kiss her. He held himself ramrod straight, trying to warn her with his stance rather than more hurtful words that she should remain distant. She seemed to comprehend the non-verbal communication as she stopped in her tracks.

"It's alright," she said softly. "It's a stressful time... for all of us. I can understand that." He nodded in agreement. "Is everything alright?" she asked before catching herself and giving a snort. "Of course, everything's not alright. We're in the middle of a bloody war," she said, running her fingers through her own hair.

"I fear we're nowhere near 'the middle', Miss Granger," he replied, drinking in her features, her mannerisms; trying to memorize it all.

She dropped her hands back to her side and met his eye. "Now that's a depressing thought," she said.

"Indeed."

Hermione regarded him for a moment, her eyes scanning his features and stance. He held himself ramrod straight, tension evident in his every feature; brows furrowed in thought, eyes heavy and dark, face gaunt and pale. He was weary… there was no other word for it; he looked weary.

"What's it like?" she finally asked, her voice breaking the heady silence of the room. "When he summons you? Do they hurt you?"

His brows furrowed further, lips pursing in contemplation as his eyes locked on hers. "Why do you ask such things?"

"I'm curious," she answered with a slight shrug, smiling softly at his raised eyebrow. "I care for you; surely, you must know that," she continued, taking another hesitant step forward. "It would upset me to know that they hurt you."

"All the more reason not to tell you then," he responded, dark eyes tracking her movements; his mind warring with his feet to take a step back.

"Severus," she said softly, shaking her head slightly in admonishment.

"_Miss Granger_," he replied in a warning tone and with a hard look in his eye.

"Not even when we're alone," she asked with a small smile on her face.

"_Especially_ not when we're alone," he answered, unable to stop his lips from twitching into a smirk.

"Fair enough," she answered, holding her position. "But honestly, are the summonses worse? Are you being injured?" Her amber eyes scanned him again, from head to toe, as though searching for some evident malady.

"I am fine, Miss Granger," he reassured her. "They are no better or worse than they have ever been."

"Would you tell me if they were though? Worse, I mean?"

His lips twitched again in amusement as he looked at the girl. "Probably not," he answered truthfully.

She huffed and looked ready to argue, but he cut her off.

"Miss Granger, I have been doing this for a very long time. I assure you, I am fine. I am able to deal with it."

"I know you are," she replied. "Of course, you are. It's just -"She took another step forward. "We all have someone… someone to lean on, to help us, to ... comfort us." She clasped her hands before her to prevent herself from reaching out and grasping him as her eyes came back up to his. "I just... I just want you to know that ... that you have someone like that as well," she finished with a small shrug.

Severus was unnerved - yet again - by the girl's gentleness. He was unused to such sentiment being directed his way and for a moment considered her feelings may not be sympathy so much as pity. The memory of her indignation when he had expressed the same for her flashed before his eyes and he quickly shook himself from that presumption. And yet it did not solve the main conundrum. Why should the girl feel so - apparently - strongly for him? What had he ever done to inspire such sentiment in her? Were they just words to her? Something you said to anyone that you didn't actively hate? Her Gryffindor sensibilities would certainly allow for such ... generosity of spirit, he thought, tilting his head as he pondered her.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, eyes darting across his features again as though trying to read them like one of her beloved books.

He looked down, suddenly feeling as though the room had constricted considerably. "Nothing, Miss Granger," he finally said. "I appreciate your sentiment, I do." He looked up at her. "But I assure you, all is well."

She gave a nod to her head, looking as though she didn't quite believe him but was disinclined to argue further.

He could not prevent himself from standing there several moments longer, just gazing at her; his own eyes surveying every surface of her face, memorizing freckles, the golden flecks of color in her eyes, every curve and bow of her lips, how her impudent curls seemed to wrap and trail tantalizingly over her neck and shoulders. Merlin, he wanted her badly. He wanted to touch and taste and feel so badly; to wrap himself in her essence and perhaps finally – _finally _– know what it was like to be free.

"Your friends will be wondering where you are," he finally said, closing his eyes against the lovely sight of her.

She nodded again. "Yes," she agreed reluctantly. "I should go."

"Hmm," he hummed noncommittally, wanting her to stay, but _needing_ her to go.

If he were being honest with himself; it was only _slightly_ less maddening than the position he had previously been in.


	27. Uninvited

**Disclaimer: See Chapter 1**

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><p><strong>Chapter 27: Uninvited<strong>

_Later that week_

"Granger."

Hermione ignored Draco's imperial command, keeping her head low as she continued down the hall to the library.

"Granger!" He sounded closer now; she could hear the thumping of his boots as he seemed to jog down the corridor to catch up with her.

He rounded on her, planting himself straight in her path, forcing her to come to a stop. She stood still, body tense, and glared at him silently. He seemed to regard her intently for a moment, his cool gray eyes sweeping up and down her form, blatantly trying to unsettle her. She stood there quietly, no emotion on her face as she waited for him to speak.

"I heard you ended things with the faux-Slytherin," he finally said, a smirk alighting on his thin lips.

"That's not really any of your business, is it?" she replied passively.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he drawled, tilting his head as he looked at her. "I find myself increasingly interested in the state of your … emotional attachments." His eyes did another once-over across her form.

She gave a slight grunt of amusement. "I never took you for a comedian, Malfoy, but that's quite funny," she replied, moving to bypass him. "Well done."

He backed up and reinserted himself in her path; she came to another abrupt stop and glared at him.

"You'll find I'm quite serious, Granger," he said, voice pitched low for her ears as he met her gaze.

"Serious about what?" she retorted sharply, feeling her patience waning.

"You and me," he replied casually.

She threw her head back with a loud laugh, seeming to startle him as he flinched back from her and gave a scan to the sparsely-populated hallway behind them.

She held a wide, amused smile on her face as she answered, "You cannot be serious."

"Why not?" He seemed insulted by her response; pulling himself straight and puffing out his chest slightly.

"Are you suffering from some head injury, Malfoy?" she asked in a mocking tone. "What could you and I possibly do with one another?"

A lascivious smirk colored his face as he took a step closer. "Let's go somewhere more private and I'd be happy to show you," he drawled in what he must have thought was an irresistibly seductive tone.

Hermione laughed again and attempted to move around him. He let her pass this time and simply kept pace at her side.

"Come on, Granger. Everyone knows there's a fine line between love and hate."

"Hah!" she exclaimed with an ungainly snort of derision. "I _do _hate you, Draco and I know you certainly don't love me."

"Well, no, I don't," he conceded, trying to block her path again as she swerved and darted around him. "But I have grown rather fond of your body."

"You're disgusting," she replied, not looking at him as she kept walking.

"I'm not proposing here, Granger," he said, backing her into a corner when they got to a turn in the corridor. "Just some mutual fun before school lets out," he added, his eyes doing another sweep of her form.

"I'd rather not," she insisted, darting out from under his arm and continuing on her way.

"There's no need to play these games," he called to her back as he followed her down the hall. "I'm offering it to you. I won't even tell anyone if that makes it easier for –"

"Draco!" she cut him off, turning abruptly to face him, causing him to skid to a stop. "Do you actually think I'm harboring some unrequited crush underneath all this loathing?" Hermione asked, gesturing at what was sure to be a sneer of disgust curling her lips.

Draco said nothing, simply watching her with that cool, unreadable expression he had. He seemed about to make a retort, opening his mouth before closing it again; lips pursing in thought as he continued to study her features.

"Now, are you going to move or do I need to start hexing you?"

"You wouldn't dare," he shot back in reply.

"Try me," she replied, pulling her wand from her pocket and holding it loosely at her side as she fixed him in her glare.

"Is there a problem here, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco and Hermione turned as one as Samuel turned the corner and came up to them.

Draco gave a casual shrug, taking a step back from Hermione as he answered, "No problem at all, _Eliot._"

"That's _Mr. _Eliot," he growled towards the blond. He turned to Hermione then and said, his tone considerably gentler, "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," she replied with a smile. "Everything's fine."

He peered into her face a moment longer before turning back to Draco with a scowl on his face. "Don't you have somewhere to be, Mr. Malfoy?"

A condescending smile colored Draco's face as he regarded the apprentice disdainfully. "Of course," he said in mock solicitousness, giving a slight incline of his head. He turned to Hermione once more. "You'll think of what I said?" he asked meaningfully.

"Whenever I need a good laugh, certainly," she replied with another grunt of amusement.

A slight sneer colored his face, but he said nothing more. Giving one last slightly disgusted look to the apprentice, he turned on his heel and made his way back down the hall.

"Are you alright?" Samuel asked again, looking at her intently.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said reassuringly. "I can handle Draco."

"I don't like the way he looks at you," he replied with another scowl at the direction the blond went.

She gave a small laugh. "I've been dealing with him since first year, Samuel. He's a prat, but he's harmless."

The wizard didn't look reassured, but said nothing further about it. They stood looking at one another, a slightly awkward silence falling between them.

"I haven't seen you much these last couple of weeks," he finally remarked, his tone purposefully light and casual.

"I know," she replied with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I've been really busy with school and studying; plus I have this NEWTs revision group that I'm leading and it's taking up a lot of my time."

He nodded in understanding, a slight smile on his face as he watched her, blue eyes tracking the movement of her fingers as they threaded through her curls. "I thought maybe you were avoiding me," he said tentatively.

"I'm not," she said sincerely. "Honestly, I'm not."

He gave another nod and gestured to the books in her arm. "Do you want me to walk you to the library?"

She gave another small laugh and shook her head. "No, no, thank you, but I'm fine."

"Okay," he replied with an answering smile, backing up a few steps. "I'll see you around then."

"Yeah." She smiled back, giving him a small wave before turning and continuing on her way.

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><p>The next day found Hermione unconsciously holding her breath as Remus began explaining his lesson plan to the class for the day. The werewolf had pulled her aside after breakfast that morning to inform her of it and had told her she could be excused from class that day, but Hermione stubbornly opted to attend, not wanting to draw attention to herself by being so conspicuously absent.<p>

And so she sat quietly between Harry and Ron, waiting for the lesson to start and mentally urging herself to remain calm and objective about it.

"Today," Remus began, his firm tone quieting the class immediately, "we will be discussing The Unforgivable Curses." Harry and Ron turned to Hermione as one at that, but she just held an expressionless look on her face as she kept her eyes on their professor.

"Now," he continued, beginning a slow walk down the aisle. "I realize you were all given an introduction of sorts to this subject in your fourth year; however, you are now NEWT-level students and – as such – there is a great deal more you need to learn about these most evil of curses.

"I will not be reiterating what you previously covered in this topic as I expect you all to be caught up with your readings." He paused and gave a meaningful look to a few of her classmates, including Ron, who ducked his head sheepishly. "I will instead be focusing on the various effects of the Curses; both on the caster and the victim. We will briefly touch upon the history of the Unforgivables in addition to the evolution of means by which the wizarding world has punished those who employ them.

"Now, obviously, we will not be practicing these spells. However, given that with a great deal of will and practice it is possible to resist the Imperius Curse, I will be teaching you some specific exercises which might help you towards that end."

Hermione shut her eyes at that, feeling the bile rising in her throat. If only these exercises had been part of an earlier curriculum, she might not have succumbed to it and cast that _other _Unforgivable; the mere thought of that possibility was enough to make want to vomit. She lowered her head and took a deep breath, feeling Harry's palm squeezing her leg reassuringly.

All through class her mind wandered back to that night, reliving those horrible moments as words like 'Cruciatus', 'Controlling the mind', 'Indescribable pain', and 'Instant Death' were bandied about the room as the class absorbed Remus' teachings. She tried blocking it out, tried remaining objective as she intermittently took notes, but she couldn't quite shut her mind off. And it insisted on bombarding her with images and recollections throughout the hour and a half of class time. To the point that by the time class was over, Hermione was mentally and emotionally drained and her dormant sense of guilt had resurfaced with a vengeance.

She bid the boys goodbye after class; telling them she was headed to the library and would see them later. She blindly made her way through the halls and corridors, not intent on any destination in particular, but somehow finding herself standing outside the potions classroom. With a weary sigh of capitulation, she gave a soft knock to the large wooden door before her, pushing it open when she heard the sharp 'Enter'.

Snape lifted his eyes from where he had been inspecting some students' potion samples, dark eyes narrowing as he took in the witch's presence. She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her, and set her bag down on the floor before running her hands over her face tiredly. He replaced the stopper in the potion vial he held and turned to face her.

"What has upset you?" he asked without preamble, eyes scanning her form for any injuries or signs of illness.

She absentmindedly walked forward, snaking around the worktables and stools until she was leaning against the worktable before him, just a few feet from his touch. She kept her face down, not meeting his gaze, seeming to struggle with her answer. He didn't repeat his question, simply stood there waiting for her to say something.

"DADA was a lesson in the Unforgivables today," she finally said, voice low and soft as she continued studying the floor.

"I see," he replied, willing her to meet his eye. "Lupin should have warned you," he added with a slight growl of disapproval.

"He did."

"And you chose to ignore it?"

"I thought I could handle it," she responded with a slight shrug of her thin shoulders.

He shook his head at her foolish need to prove her strength; as though there were any need at all to prove that. He watched her intently as she shuffled her feet, still avoiding his eye.

"How bad was it?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back against his worktable.

She looked up at him then and he could see the grief written plainly across her face, dulling the light and spark he usually found in those amber eyes, and he felt a kind of alarm rise up in him. It seemed imperative that he keep her from falling back into that grief she had been mired in at the beginning of term.

"It was bad," she finally answered, voice breaking a bit as she looked back down at her feet. "I kept seeing it… all of it… in my mind." She shook her head as though she were remembering again. "The Curses. I kept hearing them, feeling the Imperius coming over me. I kept thinking I should have been able to stop it."

"I already told you that you couldn't have fought it, Miss Granger," he replied in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

"I know that," she said. "But it is possible to resist it. I mean, I knew it was possible, but Remus said there were exercises one could do. Exercises which would increase the likelihood of being able to fight it, exercises I could have learnt!" Her voice rose in agitation towards the end.

"Even if you had known of these exercises," he began, tilting his head as he watched her, "I assure you, you could not have thrown off the Curse."

She looked startled by his comment, flinching as though he had struck her. "You think me that weak?" she asked, eyes narrowing indignantly.

"Certainly not," he replied firmly, his own eyes narrowing at the witch. "You are a very strong witch, Miss Granger. And I've no doubt you will grow into a powerful one. However, as I told you before, the Imperius is a favorite curse of Death Eaters. They are exceptionally gifted in casting it and casting it _strongly_. You could not have fought it."

She scoffed at that. "It couldn't have been _that _strong seeing as how it came from –" She abruptly cut off, sealing her lips shut.

"Came from whom?" Snape said in a low, dangerous tone, taking several steps forward to close the distance between them.

"The m-man," she stuttered slightly, backing up against the worktable as he advanced on her. "The Death Eater who cursed me," she finished in a deliberately nonchalant manner, lowering her eyes.

"You recognized him." He didn't bother forming it as a question as every instinct within him screamed that he was right. "You recognized the one who attacked you."

"No, I didn't," she answered, shaking her head and trying to slip away from him. He gripped her arms and held her in place.

"Do not lie to me," he growled in warning. "You recognized him; I know it." He shook her slightly in emphasis.

"No, I didn't," she repeated, pulling out of his arms and turning her face away from him.

Snape gave another growl, laced with impatience, and took hold of her chin, compelling her to meet his eye.

"_Legilimens!_"

He was quickly sucked into her recollections; the memories of the event swimming at the very forefront of her mind.

_Snape immediately turned to face the Death Eaters she was watching, trying to ignore the feelings and emotions that were attached to the memory and permeating through the recollection like a fog. He kept his back to Hermione, not wishing to see the state of distress she had been in. The two men wore their official masks - as the girl had said they had – but Severus could nevertheless recognize them from their forms and mannerisms. Dolohov and Nott, he thought with a mental sneer. He watched as the former released the girl from the wall, casting the Imperius almost casually with a smirk on his face. _

_Severus watched Hermione try to fight it; she twitched and jerked as she tried to throw it off, the two Death Eaters laughing cruelly at her pointless attempts. Snape's hands clenched into fists at his side as he watched her struggle. Eventually, the Curse took full hold and a calm kind of surrender came over her face. _

"_Give me your wand," Dolohov ordered his comrade, stretching out a hand to receive it. _

"_Why do you want mine?" Nott asked in a somewhat petulant tone._

"_Well, I can't very well use mine now, can I?" he retorted sharply. _

"_I'll Accio the girl's then. It must be here somewhere."_

"_Just give it to me!" Dolohov ordered again in a harsh bark._

_Nott grumbled under his breath at that, but handed the wand over without another word. Snape watched impotently as the Death Eater placed the handle in Hermione's hand and spoke the order. _

"_Use the Avada, girl," he said in a strong, clear voice. "On your mother. Now." _

_Severus saw the girl tremble slightly as though trying to disobey the command, but Dolohov merely reiterated it more firmly. She turned to her mother, who seemed to be unconscious where she lay. The girl's father, bloody and bruised on the floor by his wife, began shouting again – though no one could hear it on account of the Silencing Spell on him. Dolohov repeated the command a third time before the girl spoke the Curse; her face a passive, calm mask as she said the words and giving no reaction as her mother's form went still. The father's features twisted grotesquely as he continued screaming ineffectually at her and Snape felt a kind of horror rise in his gut as the girl turned her passive, expressionless face towards her father. _

_Is this what she dealt with? he thought to himself. Were these the memories that tormented her? Memories of her not caring, recollections of the impassivity with which she had turned the wand on her father? It was enough to render the strongest of wizards mad. _

_He heard Dolohov speak the command and saw the indescribable look of despair cross her father's face, but he abruptly pulled out of her head before she spoke the Curse. _

"How dare you!" she shouted as soon as he released her, shoving him in the chest and backing away from him.

"How dare I! How dare you, Miss Granger!" he responded in a harsh tone. "You lied. You lied to all of us, you foolish girl! Why would you keep their identities a secret!"

"Why don't you dive back in and find out for yourself?" she retorted sarcastically.

"Do not tempt me," he growled at her insolence. "Answer the question."

"It would have served no purpose," she said quietly, but with no less sense of anger in her tone.

"Served no purpose?"

"Yes."

"Explain."

"All it would have done is remove everyone's focus from where it ought to be," she explained in a determined tone, a fierce glare on her face as she regarded him. "It would have taken everyone's attention off the war and turned it towards capturing them. It would have taken _Harry's _attention away from the Dark Lord; I couldn't allow that. Merlin only knows what sort of thing he might have considered doing if I had told him." She shook her head at the thought.

"That still doesn't answer the question of why you didn't tell _us_," he replied, eyes narrowed at her, feeling a familiar ire rising up within him.

"For the same reason," she responded succinctly. "If we win this war, they will pay," she added firmly. "But the damage had already been done at that point; I saw no reason to divert the Order's attention from the main concern."

"Foolish Gryffindor," he remarked with an ugly sneer.

Her eyes came back up to him; glare still firmly in place, a vicious sneer coloring her own lips. Without another word, she turned her back on him and walked to the door, stooping to retrieve her bag before letting herself out of the classroom, the door slamming shut behind her with a resounding 'bang'.

Snape let her go; his mind pushing the rage aside and beginning to formulate a plan instead, hand reaching into the folds of his robe and fingering his wand as his eyes drifted to his arm, where his Dark Mark was hidden.

He had two wizards to see.


	28. Revenge

**A/N Nice long one for you here :D Thanks so much for sticking with me on this and for your kind reviews. I'm trying to get caught up on my writing so may not reply to each, but they are all super appreciated! **

**Enjoy!**

**P.S. I had way more fun doing this chapter than I probably ought to have had... :p **

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Warnings: Scenes of torture below... sweet, delicious torture *evil laugh*<strong>_

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><p><strong>Chapter 28: Revenge<strong>

Snape Apparated into a quiet side street of Knockturn Alley; robes billowing as he came to a stop, sneer fixed firmly on his lips, eyes narrowing in the dark and feeling very much the bat that the schoolchildren said he was.

It was well past midnight and the filth that frequented this part of town were just warming up to the evening's festivities; Snape could hear the loud laughter and chortling of the louts migrating from pub to tavern to pub, drowning themselves in drink and filling their bellies with the greasiest meal they could find before invariably ending up at one of the many brothels that could be found throughout the Alley.

Snape kept his head up but his eyes low, shaded by the hood of his Death Eater robes, as he made his way through side streets and alleys. He went unrecognized and none of the groups of men - along with their occasional tarts - paid him any mind and a few minutes later, he slipped through the door of The Crooked Wand. The bar was one of the more disreputable in the Alley and was thus a favorite among Death Eaters, especially senior members.

Giving a brief scan of the dark and musty tavern, he made his way to the bar; passing a table of new Death Eater recruits who fell into a kind of hushed and awed silence as they watched him walk by. Snape merely sneered in their direction, causing them to snap back into some garbled version of whatever conversation they'd been having.

"Double Firewhiskey," he grunted towards the barmaid, leaning on his elbow as his dark eyes scanned the room.

Nursing his drink, Snape watched the pub's various patrons with a slightly disdainful glare; the new recruits had started a loud game of cards, a few gaunt and haggard witches were thrusting their wares forward as they migrated from group to group, a few older wizards sat apart in a corner deep in discussion. And on the opposite end of the room, pawing at a particularly busty witch, sat Dolohov. His long, pale face was coated in a slight sheen of sweat, thin lips twisted into a lascivious smirk as his hands roamed over the witch's form.

Snape took a seat at the bar, head low over his drink, as he waited out the Death Eater's evening. He was three-quarters of the way through his second round when Dolohov finally stood to leave, dragging his wench behind him. Severus dropped several Galleons by the glass and slid off his stool, winding his way through the tables and patrons and out the door. Keeping several paces behind the couple, he followed them as they tripped and stumbled down the Alley, both clearly beyond intoxicated. A slight smirk graced Snape's lips as he saw them embrace sloppily beneath a streetlamp before taking a turn down a side street towards one of the seedy motels that dotted the area.

The motel had an open-air design, with the floors facing out into the street, thereby doing away with such potentially troublesome features as lobbies. Snape followed the couple silently, footsteps making no sound, as he allowed them to climb the steps up the side of the building. Keeping one half flight behind them, he acted once they turned the corner which would take them to the third and final floor. Shooting out a quick succession of non-verbal spells through the bars of the stairs' railing, the experienced Death Eater barely had time to draw his wand before Snape had him and his wench bound and gagged against the wall.

Casting strong Silencing and Repelling Charms, Severus rounded the railing on the final flight of stairs, smirking at the inebriated and flustered look on his comrade's face.

"Dolohov," he greeted sardonically, giving a mock incline of his head as he reached forward and tugged the wand out of the man's hand. The Death Eater's eyes flashed in anger and he began struggling wildly against his bonds.

He ignored the man's thrashing, turning instead to the witch, who was staring at him with wide, fearful eyes. She flinched and trembled as he approached her, whimpering slightly when Snape touched the tip of his wand to her temple. He cast the spells, pulling her memories of the evening from her mind and watching with satisfaction as a thoroughly Confunded look came over her pale face. He released her from her bonds and with a surprisingly gentle hand on the back, urged her back down the stairs. Watching silently until she had rounded the railing, he wordlessly turned to Dolohov, who had stopped struggling and was instead regarding him with a look of smug defiance - an odd look indeed for someone gagged and bound wand-less to a wall.

"Let's have a talk, shall we?" Severus drawled, placing a hand on the man's shoulder and Disapparating them with the slightest 'pop'.

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><p>Theodore Nott Sr. ran a hand through his long, disheveled black hair as he approached Sinalley Way; an uneasy feeling had settled in his gut since he'd received the message from Dolohov and he could not stop glancing behind him as he'd made his way from the bar to the specified meeting point. The Death Eater Disc, treated with a variation of the Protean Charm, and which they all used to communicate with one another, had merely said, '<em>Meet me at the usual<em>' before returning to its clear, slate status.

Keeping his head down, he took a left and made his way down the street, wondering what blasted chore Dolohov had in mind this time. He stood below the streetlamp at the corner of Sinalley and Mal's Yard, lighting a roll of Valerian and taking a deep drag, feeling a calm come over him as the herb worked its magic.

Suddenly, he felt a heavy hand descend on his shoulder and the nauseating twist of Side-Along Apparition take hold.

When he was back on solid ground, he stared open-mouthed - cigarette still clamped between his fingers - at an eerily calm and passive Snape. The dark wizard had always given him the creeps; the way one could never tell what he was thinking, how he instinctively seemed to know how best to deal with the Dark Lord, how he never flinched when their leader's wand turned to him for punishment... it all made Nott very uneasy and he avoided the man whenever he could.

Snape narrowed his eyes at the roll between the wizard's fingers, satisfied when it burst into flames, singeing the man's hand. Nott yelped in pain, eyes widening when he realized no sound issued from his throat. Snape wordlessly bound the Death Eater, pulled the man's wand from his sleeve and levitated him through the door of the small, little-used shack in the backyard of his Spinner's End home.

Nott's dark eyes grew even wider in his face when he saw Dolohov bound to a chair in the center of the room and he began thrashing about in panic, finding his voice and using it to shout his distress to the high heavens. Severus made no reprimand - having strongly warded and Silenced the shack - and simply brought the wizard down on the empty chair by his companion, binding him to it firmly. Dolohov still held his look of arrogance as he tracked Snape's movements, eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise as Nott came into his view.

Once he had them both secured, Snape backed up and leaned casually against a table he had pushed to the side of the room, regarding them intently as his wand dangled lazily between his long fingers.

"We are going to have what - I'm certain you hope - will be a short conversation regarding some of your more - recent - activities," he intoned in a low, firm voice. "I will ask you questions, which you will answer truthfully." He fixed Dolohov in his calm gaze. "Who gave the order to attack the Granger home?"

Dolohov's gray eyes widened in shock. "Granger!" he exclaimed with a sneer. "Potter's Mudblood?"

Snape tilted his head to the side, flicked his wand at the Death Eater and gave a casual, "Crucio."

The man screamed, jerking and convulsing violently in his seat as Nott looked on in fear. After a moment, Severus released the curse, lowering his wand as he regarded the wizard with a look of utmost patience.

"Who gave the order?"

Dolohov raised his head, a disgusted snarl on his face; lips twisted and twitching in hatred, fury flashing in his eyes, chest heaving as he tried to recover.

"I always sensed you were a traitor, Snape," he growled. "I knew it."

Severus bent at the waist, looking the wizard in the eye. "Good for you," he replied in a bored tone. "Now, answer my question."

"This seems like a lot of trouble to go to for a filthy Mudbl-," he answered, cut off by the second Cruciatus Snape casually tossed his way.

He screamed and convulsed again under the curse, limbs twitching and jumping erratically while his comrade looked on with a panicked expression. Severus allowed the curse to continue until a white froth began foaming around the man's thin lips. He abruptly cut it off, watching Dolohov shudder and jerk in the aftermath, gasping for breath.

He turned to Nott, catching the involuntary flinch the wizard gave, but paying it no mind as he turned his attention to the simpering fool.

"I.. I.. I was just following orders, Snape," he stuttered, dark eyes on the wand Severus held casually before him. "Honest! I was only following orders!"

"Whose?"

"Dolohov's!" he exclaimed, casting a nervous glance at the still-gasping wizard at his side.

"Coward," he bit off before turning a defiant glare to Snape.

"You may have been following orders, Theodore," he drawled, ignoring Dolohov for the moment. "But I've been on enough missions with you to know you enjoyed it."

Nott gave a slight whimper before pleading, "I didn't! Honest! I have nothing against the Mudb-" He was cut off by the Cruciatus flung his way, a shriek erupting from his throat as he thrashed under the curse's effect.

_He never did handle it well_, Snape thought idly, tilting his head curiously as he watched the man.

He released the curse, watching patiently as the wizard sucked in great lungfuls of air. When Nott lifted his eyes back to him, they were watery with tears. _No_, Snape thought in disgust; _Never handled it well at all_.

"I do not care for that term," he remarked in an icy tone. "I would suggest you find an alternative."

"Like slut?" Dolohov offered with a sneer.

"_Sectumsempra!_"

The Death Eater threw his head back and screamed as the hex sliced him across the chest, but Snape gave no visible reaction to the man's agony. He simply leaned against the table, ignoring Nott's whimpering as he allowed the wizard to bleed for a moment; an almost clinical interest on his features as he watched the wounds darken and hemorrhage, the blood trailing in thickening lines down to the floor. After a minute and a half, he pointed his wand at the wound and said the incantation to seal it.

Silence prevailed in the small shack for a moment; the only sound that of a gasping Dolohov. Snape turned his face to Nott again.

"It was the Dark Lord!" he shrieked, flinching and cowering in anticipation of Snape's wand. "The Dark Lord ordered it! That's what Dolohov told me! I swear, I know nothing else!"

A truly terrifying grin stretched Severus' face as he looked at the pitiable fool. "Thank you, Theodore," he said quietly before turning his eyes back to Dolohov who was giving Nott a look of loathing. "Why?" he asked, drawing the man's pale face back to his.

"Perhaps you should ask the Dark Lord," he replied mockingly.

"Perhaps you should not try my patience," Snape retorted, tossing another dark hex at him.

Dolohov gave a sharp bark of pain as the hex sliced through him, ripping the flesh of his thighs. He flinched as Severus raised his wand again and hissed out his answer, "He thought it would make her leave, alright! He thought it would make her abandon Potter!"

Snape gave a nod, pleased to hear his theory confirmed. "And having her murder her parents? Was that part of the order as well?" he asked benignly, ignoring the ire erupting in his gut as he recalled the girl's impassive face. He forcibly pushed her from his thoughts; a creature like her had no place in this room - in this situation.

Nott gave an involuntary grunt of something that sounded suspiciously like amusement, eyes widening and mouth opening in denial when Severus' black eyes flashed to his. He didn't give him a chance to explain his behavior; throwing a Cruciatus at him in disgust.

He allowed him to convulse under the curse for two long minutes; sneering when Nott pissed himself, the acrid stench reaching his large nostrils before it seeped through the cracks in the seat and began dripping to the floor. And still he did not release the curse. A note of fear crept into Dolohov's eyes as the odor reached him and he stared, mouth slightly open, at his jerking and trembling comrade.

Snape felt the familiar darkness rising up; the rage, the frustrations, the hatred... all of it rose up to greet him like an old friend one hadn't seen in a while. He felt his blood pounding in his ears; an indistinct - but oddly familiar - roar flaring to life at the base of his skull. An image of the girl's face pushed its way into his mind again, causing a tremor of thoroughly Gryffindor guilt to flutter somewhere in his chest. The roar was louder though, and only gaining in volume, as it crept up from the base of his skull; flaming tendrils unfurling as they wrapped around his mind, burrowing into lobes, curling around his eyes until the darkness was all he could see... all he could hear.

None of this showed on his face, of course; his features remained set in a bland configuration as he finally released the curse, ignoring the openly weeping wizard as he turned his iron gaze back to the other.

"Was that simply your idea of entertainment, Antonin?" he asked quietly, employing the wizard's first name with a deceptively gentle tone.

"She must have a lovely cunt," he sneered derisively in response. "It must be for you to betray your master so readily."

Snape said nothing, merely ripped the wizard open with a new 'Sectumsempra' from shoulder to shoulder. The dark-headed wizard writhed in agony, screaming obscenities at him as the hex burned through his skin. Severus allowed him to bleed for a full minute before sealing the wound again.

"And what are the Dark Lord's plans now that she has clearly not left the boy?" he asked once the wizard had lifted his eyes back to his.

"Fuck you, Snape," he growled. "Bella always said you were a traitor. The Dark Lord should have listened to -"

He was cut off by another Cruciatus, which Severus coupled with a particularly distasteful hex that caused the wizard's internal organs to constrict upon themselves painfully. Dolohov shrieked in pain; choking on the agony, his face going slightly purple in color before he vomited onto himself with a gagging, wretched sound. Severus turned to Nott, who was taking shallow, quiet breaths as he trembled in some combination of fear and after-effects.

Snape tilted his head at the wizard, remaining quiet until the quaking Death Eater lifted his eyes to him with a fearful look, holding himself tense and taut as though just waiting for the curse to be fired at him again.

"Do you know of the Dark Lord's plans, Theodore?" he asked rather politely.

The wizard shook his head emphatically. "No! No, I swear! I swear I have no idea, Snape. I swear it!" he rushed out; eyes pleading with the dark wizard to believe him. "Dolohov told me he would let me know if anything further was required of me. I swear it! I know nothing else!"

He regarded the man silently for a moment, ignoring the choking cough Dolohov was still emitting. "No," he finally said. "It seems you do not know much of anything." Nott held a look on his face as though he weren't sure whether that was a good thing or not.

Snape turned his face back to the other wizard who was regarding him with a slightly less defiant and more fearful look. "I've been working on that hex for quite some time, Antonin," he said in a low tone, noting the increased fear which invaded the wizard's gray eyes at this news. "It's a rather nasty bit of work, is it not?" he continued, inspecting his wand as though it had conjured the hex without his input. His black eyes flicked back up to Dolohov. "Perhaps we should try another variation."

This time when he shot the combination of curses, the constriction did not happen among all the organs in tandem, but rather moved from one to the other in a haphazard fashion that was impossible for the Death Eater to anticipate or guard against. He thrashed about his confines wildly, screeching in agony as blood began flowing copiously from his nose. He brought his head forward and vomited again, gagging and choking on the bile as it came up his constricting esophagus. The strain of retching caused him to lose control of his bladder; the stench masked by the vomit the man was still choking on.

Dolohov coughed and spat on the ground before glaring up at Snape, though he could not quite mask the genuine fear in his eyes.

Snape did not repeat his query, but merely raised a single black eyebrow as he met the man's glare with a steely gaze.

"I have orders to kill her," the Death Eater admitted, causing a whimper to escape Nott's throat.

"Is that so?"

"Yes," he sneered in reply.

"And why have you not done it?"

"She never leaves the bloody castle now, does she?" he retorted sarcastically.

"The boy -" Nott began hesitantly.

"Shut up, Nott!" Dolohov barked, cutting him off.

Snape nodded as he watched the two; Dolohov glaring in loathing at his comrade while Nott cowered visibly, shoulders trembling slightly.

"I see," Severus said with another nod. He fixed his gaze on the other wizard. "So, it seems you do have 'some' knowledge; am I correct, Theodore?"

Nott looked up at him with a truly panicked expression now; eyes wide as he began babbling incoherent excuses. Severus took several slow steps forward, approaching the wizard who tracked his every movement with wide, fearful eyes. He kept muttering his excuses and pleas as Snape reached a hand into the man's breast-pocket and plucked out his pack of Valerian rolls. Turning and making his way back to the table, he pulled one out; lighting it with the end of his wand with one hand as the other tossed the pack onto the tabletop.

He took a deep inhale; feeling the smoke seep into his lungs, calming the rage boiling his blood and he regarded Nott with a passive eye.

"And we were doing so well, you and I," he said in a disappointed tone before jabbing his wand sharply at the wizard.

Nott screamed as the 'Sectumsempra' ripped through his chest. The wound was haphazard and crude as it sliced across his torso; from top to bottom and again from left to right. His chest stuttered, sobs wrenched from his gut as he trembled in the chair; the blood gushing from his wounds and pooling in his lap, dark eyes clouding in agony as he met his tormentor's gaze.

In several quick successive flourishes of his wand, Snape had unbound him from the chair - looping the ropes more tightly around his form - sent the chair careening back into the wall and brought the wizard face-down in the puddle of his own urine, which rapidly turned red as the blood pouring from the gashes in the Death Eater's chest spread onto the floor.

This time, he didn't seal the wound. Snape leaned back against the table, fixed Dolohov in his icy gaze and smoked his roll as the wizard watched his comrade, ex-Housemate - and perhaps even friend - bleed to death on the floor before him.

It took several moments... several, long moments of jerking, convulsing, gasping and choking before Nott was finally still. And all that time, Severus held an unnaturally blank expression on his face; not moving except to take the occasional drag, his patient eyes never leaving Dolohov's face as the Death Eater sat, mesmerized by the slow, agonizing death of his partner.

"You mean to have Draco bring the witch to you." His calm tone broke the silence of the room and startled the wizard before him.

Dolohov looked up at him; defeat spelled quite clearly across his face now and gave a slight nod to his head in answer.

"Term is very nearly over," Snape continued, taking another drag. "What is the boy waiting for?"

The wizard gave a grunt. "Buggered if I know," he answered with a sneer. "Told him I'd let him have a go before killing her, but the imbecile keeps stalling. Won't even return my missives."

Snape nodded; making no reprimand to the vile suggestion Dolohov uttered but to carefully - and slowly - draw a Sectumsempra from the base of the man's throat to his groin, ignoring the panicked shrieks and thrashing as the wizard tried ineffectually to evade the curse. When he had drawn a - slightly jagged - line from sternum to pubis, making sure it was bleeding nicely, he brought his black eyes back to Dolohov's red and sweaty face.

"You'll pay for this, Snape," the wizard choked out before gagging on his own rising bile again; dark, red blood pouring thickly from the wound in his chest.

"Perhaps," he conceded with the nonchalance of a man who had long-accepted that damnation awaited him.

Severus leaned against the table then, watching -unperturbed - as the wizard bled out; ignoring the man when he finally broke down and began pleading for his life. Even as the proud Death Eater broke into hysterical sobs - gasping for breath - tears and snot running down his face, he remained curiously detached; mentally going over his plan for dispatching the bodies, black eyes flicking to the flask of Disintegrating Potion that sat high on a shelf at the back wall.

He intermittently inhaled at the roll; feeling the root permeate his blood stream, a preternatural calm descending on him, pushing the roar back until it was nothing more than a distant murmur in the back of his mind.


	29. And All it Entails, Part I

**A/N Thank you sooo much for the lovely response to the previous chapter! It really lifted my spirits and fed my muse as the flow seems to be coming back in this story :D **

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 29: And All it Entails, Part I <strong>

Throughout the following Potions class, Hermione could not stop glancing surreptitiously at her professor. He had been unnaturally - unnervingly - quiet throughout class, not dispensing any criticism or deducting any House points. In fact, he seemed barely present at all. He had waved his hand at the blackboard and told them to begin brewing the potion whose formula was spelled out in his spiky, cramped scrawl. He had then sat at his desk, one, long index finger idly tracing his bottom lip for nearly half an hour before he seemed to snap out of it and began a long, slow walk up and down their worktables. But even then, he said nothing, merely peering into cauldrons and glancing at techniques as he traversed the length of the room.

It was most unusual.

And what was even more significant - to Hermione's mind at least - was the fact that his wand did not make one appearance throughout class. Normally, it was always there, held casually in his hand as he paced the room, occasionally blasting the wrong ingredient before it touched the surface of a potion or rearranging a student's ingredients into the correct order for usage before walking away with a sneer. But the ebony wand had not made an appearance today; the only magic the professor had done was to wandlessly - and wordlessly - have the potion formula appear on the board before them.

Hermione found herself preoccupied - and subsequently worried - by this phenomenon. She knew instinctively that it had to relate, somehow, to what had occurred when last they'd seen one another. She was still furious with the man for the unauthorized Legilimency he had performed on her, the memory of it instantly bringing forth the anger she'd felt following the incident, which had sent her into furious tears upon returning to her chambers. It was a violation; there was simply no other way of putting it. And his intrusion into her mind had left a bitter and unsavory aftertaste which lingered even after her anger had faded away.

She'd expected him to make eye contact with her at some point, had expected to see some kind of remorse in his eyes. But he never even looked her way; he seemed to avoid her eye, ducking behind his curtain of hair whenever he passed her table and addressing any comments to the other side of the room. If she didn't know any better, Hermione would say he was ashamed of his behavior, despite the lack of remorse he'd shown when he'd pulled out of her mind.

It was most unusual and Hermione found that she could not account for his state at all.

When class finally ended and he had dismissed them with a distracted wave of his hand, she urged the boys to go ahead and remained at her worktable, idly fiddling and lingering over her equipment and ingredients until the last student had vacated the room. Professor Snape did not seem to notice her presence. He had retreated to his desk, taking a seat and lightly massaging his temples as he waited for the students to file out.

Finally, he seemed to sense that the room had not completely emptied and his black eyes flicked up from between his hands. He stared into her eyes for a very long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he broke eye contact and, with a sigh, came out from behind his desk to one of the worktables in the front where he proceeded to inspect their potion samples.

She simply stood there, two tables away, watching him silently as he held vials up to the light and sniffed at their contents.

"It seems I will be spending an inordinate amount of time apologizing to you," he finally said, his low baritone snapping her eyes to his face from where they'd been lingering on his long, elegant fingers.

"I suppose it's fortunate for you then that I'm such a forgiving person," she replied. Despite her hurt and anger, Hermione felt a rush of affection for the man flood her system and her eyes softened as she watched him.

His eyes came up to meet hers, lips quirking minutely. "I should not have employed Legilimency on you," he stated clearly.

"Without my permission, you certainly should not have," she said firmly, mouth set in a straight line.

He took in her face, noting the latent anger and indignation coloring her lovely features. The witch was hurt by what he'd done; _and with good reason_, the voice in his mind supplied. Merlin knew Severus was accustomed to the feeling of having your thoughts and memories violated in such a way.

"I thought," she began, shaking her head as though to clear it. "I thought we were meant to trust one another."

"Interesting you should say so," he replied neutrally, "considering how you were lying to me."

She bit her lip, clearly abashed, and lowered her head with a nod of concession. After a long moment in which Severus wondered whether he should say something further, but not wishing to sound accusatory, the girl finally spoke again.

"I couldn't say anything," she said softly. "I told you why I felt like I couldn't - _shouldn't_ - say anything."

"Self-sacrificing," he murmured with a slight shake of his head. "Like the lioness you are," he finished on a softer tone, allowing his eyes to sweep affectionately over her face.

Her lips quirked slightly before her features took on a more serious composition. "Regardless," she began, meeting his eye again. "You had no right to invade my mind like that. It's not a book that you can just flip through whenever the urge strikes."

"Of course," he conceded with a placating nod. "You are correct and I am sorry, Miss Granger." He fixed her with a pointed look, willing her to see the full intent he had in keeping that promise.

She looked at him for another long moment, her beautiful amber eyes roaming over his features, as though trying to ferret out any crack in his resolve, anything that might call into question his oath. Finally, she gave a slight nod to her head and began to slowly make her way around the tables towards him. He tracked her movements with wary eyes, wanting so very badly to wrap her in his arms, but - at the same time - hoping she wouldn't lay that temptation at his feet.

She stood before him, lightly chewing on her bottom lip as she seemed to contemplate something rather grave. He tilted his head as he watched her; he found himself oddly absorbed by that habit of hers, his cock twitching to life hopefully.

"What did you do to them?" she finally asked tentatively, almost afraid to know the answer.

If anything, his black eyes grew even darker as he leveled his gaze at her. "What do you imagine I did to them?" he replied, his tone unreadable.

"You killed them?" she whispered.

His eyes swept over her, taking in her slightly frightened look, her fingers twisted together as though to keep her hands from trembling, her big amber eyes locked on his face.

"Eventually," he said, turning his back on her and moving towards an ingredients shelf at the side of the room.

She puffed out the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "I can't believe it," she said, shaking her head slightly.

"You think it wrong?" he inquired in a deceptively casual tone – though she could hear the uncertainty lacing it - as his gaze wandered over the ingredients shelf.

"Not that they're dead, certainly not. But it's just so…"

"So?" he prodded, turning to face her, hands clasped behind his back in a relaxed manner.

"Violent," she answered, her eyes watching his every gesture and reaction, but holding no judgment.

"I've done worse, Miss Granger, to people far less deserving," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

She struggled to absorb his words, process his candor, his actions and what they meant. He was presenting her with this brutal honestly, no agenda attached, no attempt to frighten her off or push her away. She could see – quite plainly – what this honesty was costing him; it was there in the tension of his shoulders, the firm set of his brow, the resigned line of his mouth.

"What if _he_ finds out?" she asked worriedly, dropping her eyes from his face. "What if he realizes what you've done?"

"Then I imagine I will be punished most severely," he replied in that same matter-of-fact tone.

Hermione shook her head in disbelief as she asked, "You place so little value on your own life?"

"He will not kill me yet, Miss Granger. I am still of use to him."

"Am I supposed to be comforted by that?"

He met her eye, giving her a long, searching look as he seemed to contemplate her words. "No, I don't suppose you would be," he finally said.

They stood there, merely gazing at one another. Time seemed to pause and expand as they seemed to hold a silent conversation, with eyes for dialogue, sighs and twitches of lips for punctuation. Severus was unsure how much time had passed; it seemed he could – quite happily – spend the remainder of his days in keen observation of one Miss Hermione Granger. The witch fascinated him to no end, each lift of her brow, bite of her lower lip and movement of her eyes had him singularly absorbed. When had this small, feisty Gryffindor come to mean so much to him? How had it happened? Had it always been an inevitability or might it have been derailed at some point by one action or lack thereof?

"It seems odd," she finally said, breaking the heady silence of the room, "to thank you for something like this." He sent her a small smirk at that. "Are you familiar with the Muggle religious concept of 'An Eye for an Eye'?"

"Quite," he replied with a nod. "It was a favorite justice system of my father."

She gave him a meaningful look – eyes softening and brows furrowing slightly - before crossing the small distance remaining between them.

Hermione kept her eyes locked on his as she approached him with slow, deliberate steps. Those dark orbs were filled with a silent longing that very nearly took her breath away and he made no move to stop her as she drew closer.

She came to a stop before him and raised her hand, lifting it to his face and cupping his cheek gently. He turned into the palm and – with a sigh – placed a kiss of near-reverence to it before meeting her eye again.

"Then I am avenged," she whispered, thumb ghosting over his bottom lip.

Something in Severus snapped and he jerked the witch against him and brought his lips crashing down on hers.

His kiss was brutal and demanding; his tongue swept urgently into Hermione's mouth, dipping and stroking to taste every inch of her. She held onto him just as tightly, her hands fisting in his robes as she opened herself completely to his assault. One of his large, glorious hands tangled in her curls, angling her head back as he continued plundering her mouth, sucking her bottom lip, his crooked teeth sinking into it lightly before releasing it and covering her mouth again.

Any latent traces of darkness he'd felt were being incinerated by the purifying fire of this witch. Severus could feel it all receding, slipping back into its pit deep in his gut, docile and tame. All rational thought fled his mind and all that remained was a driving need to bring the witch as close as humanly possible.

She gave a nip to his tongue in her mouth and an altogether different animal flared to life within him. He answered her action with a low growl, pushing her forward until her back was against a worktable. She went willingly, small noises of pleasure escaping her throat as she pulled him closer against her. His erection came up against her abdomen and, with a low moan, she writhed unashamedly against it.

He gave another growl, reaching down, grabbing her leg and lifting it to hook at his hip. Her hands drifted up and tangled in his hair as she chased his tongue back into his mouth, stroking and tasting him as she bucked her hips against the hardness he was grinding against her. Severus tore his lips from hers, trailing hot kisses down her jaw-line, stopping to suckle at her throat before tracing his tongue along the collarbone revealed by the open neck of her blouse. She allowed it all, tilting her head back and pressing her chest against him as she urged him on with moans and sighs.

He came back up to her face, forehead against hers, his breathing heavy and in time with her own.

"Do you hear it, Miss Granger?" he asked in a rough voice. "Do you hear my heart? Do you hear how it beats?"

Her face tipped back up, lips against his as she replied breathlessly, "I can't hear it over mine."

He brushed his lips softly against hers, delighting in her gasp and hoping it was because she'd felt that same shock jolting through her that he did at the contact. He licked at her parted lips, earning another gasp, before kissing down her chin, nudging it up to kiss the hollow at the base of her throat; and all the while, his fingers slipped one then two then three buttons of her shirt loose. She gave a truly glorious sigh as she leaned even further back against the table, offering herself to him completely.

He looked at her in awe for a moment before opening her shirt just wide enough to see her chest wall between her breasts. He willed himself not to bare her breasts to his eyes, knowing that if he did so, the girl would not be returning to her room that evening. Focusing on that glimpse of pale, perfect skin, he brought his mouth to it, imagining for a moment that he could feel the flutter of her heart against his lips. He could not resist kissing it, sighing in pleasure as her taste and scent enveloped him. Before he was truly ready to, he lifted his mouth from her skin and turned his head, laying his ear against her chest with another sigh, his arms wrapped loosely around her.

Hermione brought her head back up, looking down at the head of jet black hair resting against her breastbone. The sharp arousal was still coursing through her, but she recognized his efforts to regain control of the situation. With a sigh of her own, she threaded her fingers through his baby-fine hair, taking the time to run them through its length and wonder at its so-black-it-was-almost-blue coloring. Her fingers migrated down to the base of his skull and found their way beneath the high collar of his robes, wrapping about the nape of his neck. He gave a moan of pleasure as she began kneading the muscle there, loosening the tension she could feel beneath her fingers and reveling in the warm, smooth skin.

He turned his mouth back to her chest, more aroused than he had ever been in his life by her gentleness, her fire, the very essence of everything the witch was and could be. His lips moved against the soft skin, earning a gasp from her; he continued kissing his way back up, alternating with the occasional flick of his tongue, until he was again face-to-face with the girl.

"If you don't leave now, I will not be held accountable for my actions," he murmured against her mouth.

Her tongue flicked out against his bottom lip, causing his erection to tighten very nearly to the point of pain. She pulled him down a bit by the folds of his robes, those sweet lips grazing the shell of his ear as she whispered, "I won't tell."

He gave another growl and captured the witch's lips with his; she wrapped her arms around him like a vine, leg hooking back up around his hips to draw him closer as she opened herself to him in invitation. His tongue dipped back into the sweetness of her mouth, stroking against hers as his hands explored the contours of her waist, hips and bottom. Her hands came back down and started fumbling with his buttons and clasps as though trying to figure out how to undo them.

Severus pulled her hands from his person and drew himself away from her with a supreme amount of effort. She met his eye with a disappointment look that still managed to convey understanding. He felt a small smile come upon his face and – keeping both her hands cupped in one of his - he reached up to stroke lightly down her cheek with the other.

"Lovely," he murmured, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as her eyes drifted back shut and she leaned into his touch.

He dropped his hand from her face and took a step back, releasing both her hands as well. She opened her eyes, still leaning against the table as she watched him with a look of acute longing.

"You must go now, you exquisite witch," he said, not quite able to keep the longing from his tone. "Leave while I still retain some semblance of coherent thought."

She gave him a small smile and nod, stepping forward and leaning up to place one more, small kiss to his cheek and he willed himself not to turn his lips to hers. She seemed to understand his frustration, giving him a meaningful look as her own hand came lightly down his cheek. He gave her a nod which she returned before lowering her gaze from his and moving away. He watched – still irrationally absorbed by her every movement – as she wound her way back around the tables, buttoning up her shirt on the way, retrieved her things and quietly left the classroom.

* * *

><p><em>Two Days Later<em>

Albus Dumbledore surveyed the Great Hall warmly; the children were a raucous cacophony of joy, their laughter and chatter ringing about the hall as they enjoyed their supper. There was a nervous kind of thrill in the air as NEWTs and OWLs drew nearer, with the fifth and seventh years decidedly quieter than the other students. It was an exciting time to be sure, the headmaster thought as his eyes swept over the tables. He could barely remember his own school days, so long passed, but surely he had felt the same nervous joy at being so close to embarking on adulthood.

His bright blue eyes landed on Harry, turning just a shade sadder. _Of course, some have already been thrust into adulthood_, he thought with a mental sigh; his eyes drifted to Miss Granger who was laughing at something Miss Weasley had said from across the table. These young souls before him carried such a heavy burden, such an incomprehensible weight, and Dumbledore knew that a significant amount of their childhood had been cruelly ripped away. Harry and his friend were already both keenly aware of what it meant to be an adult.

His gaze came back around and he gave a small glance to the wizard at his side, but Severus' eye seemed to be on the Gryffindor table. Oddly, his face didn't hold the customary sneer he reserved for the House and, instead, his black eyes were uncharacteristically soft as they regarded the table. Dumbledore followed his gaze, brows furrowing quizzically as it seemed the dark wizard's eyes were lingering on one Gryffindor in particular. When he turned back to Severus though, the man was looking down into his soup bowl, making the headmaster wonder if he had possibly imagined it.

Suddenly, Severus gave the slightest of hisses; setting his spoon down with a sigh, he met the headmaster's eyes as he smoothed the fabric of his forearm to signal that he'd been summoned.

Dumbledore gave a minute nod and placed a light hand on the wizard's elbow, making him pause as he was rising from his seat.

"Report to me immediately afterwards, Severus."

The potions master gave an odd look at the unusual directive, but simply nodded before rising and slipping out the teachers' side entrance.

* * *

><p>Severus felt a flicker of apprehension lick at his consciousness as he approached the gates of Malfoy Manor. He sensed that the summons would be in regards to the disappearance of Dolohov and Nott; and while he was quite certain that no evidence would ever be found linking him to it, he nevertheless suspected that the Dark Lord would expect him to have answers. Snape's taciturn and unsociable nature was well-known within the group and although he was periodically seen at their revels and gatherings (perhaps more so these last couple of months), no one would ever say that he looked pleased to be there. He rarely socialized at their gatherings, exchanging a few words with the Malfoys, Lestranges and maybe Rosier or Rookwood, but more often than not, he simply stood at one end of the room and quietly observed. And when the evening's activities would commence, he was often noted as dispatching the Muggles and traitors with an expediency that would be seen as suspect were it not for the thoroughly bored expression on his face.<p>

As Severus walked, he schooled his features into their customary setting of calm allegiance and general apathy, forcing all other considerations out of his mind and systematically erecting his Occlumency walls. Anything and everything of possible importance was hidden behind those shields, buried so deep he wondered whether even Dumbledore would be able to access them.

* * *

><p>"Perhaps they have forsaken you, my Lord," he replied dispassionately once the inevitable question of the two wizards' whereabouts had been bandied about the room and had finally landed on him.<p>

"What arrogance you possess, Severussss," the Dark Lord hissed, the red slits of his eyes flashing angrily at him. "They are two of my oldest allies." The senior Death Eaters who were gathered in a small circle around their leader issued murmurs of affirmation at that. "Now, tell me, do you know of their disappearance?"

"I know nothing," he answered firmly, a look of slight curiosity on his features. "I have not seen either of them since our last meeting, my Lord."

"Liar!" Bellatrix hissed from her spot at the Dark Lord's side. "You were seen at The Crooked Wand just two nights ago and I know for a fact that Dolohov was there as well."

Severus fixed his features into a placid, yet disdainful sneer as he replied, "It is a very popular establishment, Bella, one that I frequent quite regularly. I do not recall seeing Dolohov there," he finished, returning his gaze to the Dark Lord.

"You frequent it regularly, you say?" he inquired, red eyes narrowing as he regarded his spy.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Even on a school night?" The Dark Lord tilted his head to the side, a dangerous smile lighting his face.

Severus held his gaze; a silent invitation to peer into his mind. "It's been known to happen," he replied casually.

"There's no use in offering your mind to me, is there, Severus? I know you to be a master Occlumens." He traced his thin lips with the tip of his wand. "Perhaps the old man is not the one whom you are keeping secrets from," he offered.

_No reason why it can't be both,_ he thought to himself with ill-timed humor, keeping a composed look on his face.

"What do you know?" the Dark Lord asked once more, his sibilant tone grating Severus' nerves.

"I assure you, I know nothing, my Lord," he replied with a respectful incline of his head. "I cannot account for their absence at all."

The wizard regarded him silently for a moment, ignoring Bella who persisted in muttering and hissing under her breath at his side. Finally, he lifted the wand from his lips and pointed it at Severus, who held himself still and ready.

"Perhaps this will loosen your tongue."

The Cruciatus was so severe it felled Severus immediately. He dropped to the floor, limbs jerking violently as he flopped around like a fish on a boat deck. He held himself loose - muscles flaccid – and allowed the convulsions to wash over him, making no move to fight the reaction.

It lasted perhaps a minute - though it felt like hours – before the Dark Lord released him from the curse. Severus remained in a supine position, muscles twitching randomly as he awaited instruction. Struggling to catch his breath in this position, he made no move to sit or stand until expressly told to do so.

"Are you quite certain of your answer, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked almost conversationally after some moments of silence.

He took a deep breath, guarding against the inevitable before he answered, "Yes, my Lord."

The wizard hissed out the curse again and Severus' spine jerked painfully as the Cruciatus shot through it, seeming to blaze a trail of fire up to his mind. He heard a scream of agony, not realizing until it was cut off by another surge of the curse that it was his own. Severus bit into his tongue, tasting the blood in his mouth, but not releasing it. He would not scream. He never screamed whenever he suffered the Dark Lord's displeasure. It was a point of distinction and he knew it unnerved his fellow Death Eaters that he was able to endure the curse without screaming out his torment.

But this was too much. He had sensed upon arriving at the meeting that their leader was in a less than favorable mood, but it was certainly not the first time that that had been the case. And even on such occasions, the Dark Lord had never injected such power into the curse and as he sent another surge his way, Severus could not contain the scream that was ripped from his throat. He convulsed anew, feeling his tendons and muscles contract painfully under the assault to his mind till it felt like they would be torn from him forcefully.

Finally, it stopped. Severus took shallow, gasping breaths as he shuddered and trembled on the cold marble floor. He heard that lunatic Bellatrix praise the Dark Lord's power and skill, feeling the bile rise up in his throat at the sound. Forcing himself to swallow it down, Severus focused on steadying his breathing and trying to calm his nerves. He had the presence of mind to check his Occlumency shields, noting with satisfaction that they seemed to be holding up quite well under the assault.

"You are keeping something from me though, aren't you, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked in a soft tone. "Perhaps you truly do not know where Dolohov and Nott have gone, but _there is something_."

"No, my Lord," he managed to bite out, spitting blood onto the floor before meeting the wizard's eyes. "I am in your service."

The Dark Lord hissed in frustrated anger at that and tossed a hex at him. Snape bent over on himself as the slice of pain ripped through his side. _That's new,_ he thought as he felt the blood trickling from the wound. Their leader usually made due with the Cruciatus and/or Avada; he was generally loath to spill blood in such a way, especially from his own followers. Severus could not account for this treatment; he had not been expecting such severity. His black eyes fell upon Lucius, who stood to the side with Rosier and Mulciber, and Severus found himself wondering whether the blond was whispering in the Dark Lord's ear like his sister-in-law did, planting seeds of doubt and trying to convince their leader that perhaps Severus was not to be trusted to such a degree.

He had no time to contemplate it further as another hex was thrown at him, cracking his ribs before blazing down his side and tearing a gash into his thigh. Severus folded in on himself to protect what he could of his vital organs, leaving himself vulnerable to another hex that sliced across his back, causing him to scream in a kind of shocked pain.

There was another pause in the punishment, allowing him to recover and Snape lay there gasping and quaking under the pain and shock to his system. His brain was unsure how to assimilate all these signals; he felt as though his mind were stuttering dumbly in his skull, his brain giving up and simply registering every move as pain.

"What about now, Severus?" the wizard asked after a moment. "I feel you are hiding something and I intend to find out what it is. You are well aware that I am a very patient wizard, Severus."

He took another shuddering breath, his ribs protesting the act as unnecessary. "I know nothing, my Lord," he replied, his voice raspy and unrecognizable to his own ears.

He heard the Dark Lord tsk twice in disappointment and then Severus' brain erupted in fire.

* * *

><p>Lucius Malfoy pushed his long, icy blond hair out of his face as he came to a stop post-Apparition. He heard the slightly louder 'Pop' as Rowle Apparated in behind him, depositing Snape's limp and bloody form onto the ground with a grunt before popping back out again without a word. But Lucius paid him no mind, standing stock-still as the harsh wind whipped through his robes. His steel-gray eyes narrowed as he regarded the small, ramshackle hut several yards away. He gave a small nod of satisfaction as he registered the smoke rising from the chimney and the warm glow of a fire through the cabin's small windows. With a cursory – and some might say unfeeling - glance at the unconscious form behind him, he turned towards the hut, pointed his wand at one of its windows and said the spell.<p>

He had already Disapparated by the time the orange flare reached its target.


	30. And All it Entails, Part II

**A/N Thanks for sticking with me, you guys! You are all really and truly awesome :D **

**Let's get to 500 reviews and I'll squeal with happiness! :p  
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**I hope you enjoy this chapter! **

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 30: And All it Entails, Part II<strong>

Rubeus Hagrid was startled awake by Fang's sharp bark; sitting up in his armchair, he regarded the dog with sleepy eyes as the hound's ears perked up and twitched excitedly.

"What is it, yeh dozy dog?" he grumbled, settling back in his seat.

Fang stood up and scrambled to the window, barking loudly and propping himself up on a chair to get a closer look.

"What'd ye see, boy?" Hagrid asked, sitting up slightly and turning towards the window.

His bushy, black brows furrowed as he saw the bright, orange flare flickering outside. He stood and made his way to the door, stopping to grab a lantern and his pink umbrella, Fang right on his heels with several sharp barks.

"Quiet, you," he admonished lightly as he opened the door.

The hound immediately ran down the steps and around the side of the hut to investigate. Hagrid was set to follow him, but paused when the flare zipped around the side of the cabin and danced in the air a bit before moving away towards the dark boundaries of the Forbidden Forest. Fang dug his heels into the wet earth, growling and barking at the light, but making no move to follow it. When the flare was several paces away, it turned back and approached the pair again, dancing before them - which Fang found most irritating - before drifting back in the direction of the Forest, clearly meaning for them to follow it.

Hagrid gave a wary glance around, turning to take a look at the castle as well, but the grounds around him were quiet. Suddenly, Fang perked up again, sniffing the air intently before taking off for the Forest in a gallop, nearly over-taking the flare as it too zoomed towards the darkness beyond.

"Fang!" he shouted, breaking into a jog as he lumbered after his pet. "Come back 'ere!"

Hagrid followed the light down the gently sloping hill and towards the dark edge of the woods, calling for his dog the whole way; but Fang ignored his master and continued, gaining speed as he went down the hill and bounded into the trees. Hagrid came up behind him some moments later, his eyes still tracking the flare. Stepping into the Forest, he followed it through the dense trees and undergrowth until he saw the light abruptly burn itself out. Eying the traces of the dissipating spell, he gasped as he saw the body beneath it.

Fang immediately went to the form, barking and howling loudly as he circled it anxiously. Hagrid let out a shout of surprise as he registered the person as Severus Snape. Rushing to the professor's side, he called to the man, carefully turning him over and giving another cry of shock as he took in the wizard's bloody and quivering form. A wound in the professor's side was bleeding in a steady trail - having already made a good-sized puddle in the earth beneath him - and every muscle in the man's body seemed to be twitching and jerking under its own erratic pattern.

He murmured comforting nonsense as he lifted the professor's body into his arms, seeing that the man was clearly unconscious but unable to refrain from keeping up a steady stream of semi-coherent babble as he hurried through the castle grounds and up to the school.

It was far too late for any of the students to be awake and Hagrid made his way quickly and - for the most part - silently to the hospital wing, calling frantically to Madam Pomfrey as soon as he'd breached the doors. The old witch seemed to sense whom he was carrying and ushered him over to a cordoned off section of the wing which was generally used for quarantine purposes. Hagrid laid the still trembling man down onto the bed as gently as he could manage, stepping back immediately to give Poppy some room.

"Get the headmaster, Hagrid," she said distractedly as she began magically cutting away Severus' robes. "Bring him here immediately."

He gave a firm nod from behind her, turned and exited the wing, making his way quickly up to the headmaster's office as quickly as his burly legs would carry him.

* * *

><p>Fire was blazing up his spine, slicing its way across his abdomen, and his muscles were in full rebellion.<p>

It was too much; this agony was far too much to bear.

And yet it wasn't enough.

If he'd failed them, then it was not nearly enough.

"What do you think it is, Albus?" he heard a worried voice murmur somewhere to his right. "I've never seen such a hex; look at how it's eating at his skin."

"I told you, I don't recognize it either, Poppy," a weary voice replied with a sigh. "Just do the best you can."

He struggled to focus through the pain, trying to comprehend who they were or what they were talking about, but his mind had other priorities.

_What happened? Did I tell him anything? DID I TELL HIM ANYTHING?_

He tried; he tried so very hard to remember the whole encounter. Had he broken at some point? Did his shields fail him? Had he mentioned anything about the boy or Horcruxes or Merlin-forbid, the girl?

_I failed._

Another trail of molten agony sliced across his abdomen, and he welcomed the familiarity of pain with open arms.

_There's no use._

He struggled to relax his twitching and jerking muscles, a tide of bile surging up his throat and he turned his head and retched, feeling his entrails clambering up his torso and attempting to launch themselves from his mouth.

_Never any use._

That same gentle, slightly maternal, voice was crooning some kind of garbage to him about 'full-recovery' and 'back in no time'; but Severus was unable to focus on any of it. His brain was incapable of deciphering the nonsense and he resumed his efforts at fully remembering what had happened after his mind had caught on fire.

* * *

><p>Snape's eyes flew open and a cry of pain was wrenched from his throat, back arching off the bed as the convulsions began again. He was able to recognize Poppy this time as she fluttered around him, tipping potions down his throat and running her wand over him with a slow, soothing chant as he struggled to maintain some semblance of dignity under the onslaught.<p>

"This is worse," the mediwitch murmured as she evaluated the results of a diagnostic spell she'd cast. "This is so much worse that usual."

_Who the fuck is she talking to? I know it's bloody worse than usual! _his mind shouted in response, but he was unable to vocalize the sentiment. His teeth bit down hard on his tongue as a particularly harsh convulsion thundered through him, bringing his back clear off the bed, a shriek of agony muffled by his clenched jaw.

The episode subsided, the mediwitch keeping up her garbled nonsense as she tried to soothe his nerves, and Snape saw movement from the corner of his eye.

_Dumbledore._

"Dumbledore!" he cried out, left hand reaching out mindlessly and clutching uselessly at empty air.

"What is it, my boy?" he replied, leaning over and placing a cool hand on the young wizard's fiery forehead.

His black eyes popped open again, brain stuttering in his head, teeth chattering uncontrollably as he tried to stave off another attack and he gripped the headmaster's arms desperately.

"L-l-look!" he stuttered, his voice hoarse and unrecognizable. "L-l-look," he repeated, gesturing to his eyes. "See if I t-t-told him anything. C-c-can't remember. LOOK!"

The old wizard nodded his understanding, blue eyes warm as they met his watery black ones and Severus felt himself relax slightly. _Dumbledore will unlock the memory_, he told himself reassuringly; _Dumbledore will look and see if I've failed_.

"No! No! Absolutely not." The maternal tenor was gone, to be replaced by one much more shrill as the mediwitch tried to wave the headmaster off. "He is in no condition to undergo Legilimency, Albus. Absolutely not."

"It will not harm him, Poppy," the headmaster replied in a placating tone.

"Absolutely not!" she repeated. "This is my hospital and I forbid it."

"And this is my school," he replied, his voice taking on the strength which reminded people that Dumbledore was one of the most powerful wizards who ever lived. "It will not be painful nor will it delay his recovery, as you well know. Now, kindly give us a moment."

The witch huffed and grumbled, but said nothing further as she gathered up empty potion vials and jars of salve before vacating the room. The headmaster watched her leave before turning kind eyes back to Snape, who opened his own eyes wide for the older wizard's perusal.

"Just relax, my boy. This won't hurt a bit," he said as he placed his wand lightly at Severus' temple and murmured the spell.

Dumbledore was relieved to see that even though Severus' shields were down, they seemed to have retained their strength and integrity despite the punishment his mind had received. The headmaster didn't have much time to inspect them further though as he was immediately dragged into the potions master's last recollection, watching as Tom - then his followers - proceeded to throw hex after hex and curse and curse at the wizard lying on the ground before them. Forcing himself to be dispassionate, Dumbledore pushed backwards, skimming over the punishment to find its source. Eventually, he reached the opening of the memory, brows furrowing as he struggled to comprehend Tom's consternation, looking for any mention or hint of Horcruxes.

_Dolohov and Nott?_ he thought to himself, not recalling Severus reporting to him in any way about the two wizards. He heard Bellatrix' accusations regarding the Knockturn Alley establishment and promptly pushed his way back, tracing the chronological ordering of the memories.

His brows raised quizzically as the next memory showed Severus conversing in the dungeons with Miss Granger, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he saw how the encounter escalated. He skimmed over the pair's indiscretion, filing the information away for later deliberation, and moved towards the beginning of the memory, trying to see how it connected to the incident with Tom and his two missing wizards.

He heard the girl ask if he'd killed them, which sent the headmaster on a detour through the memory his potions master had seen in the girl's mind, the realization of what the wizard had done and why crashing around him at once. Unable to stop the surge of anger that ripped through him, Dumbledore pushed further back, seeing everything. He watched apathetically as Severus tortured and killed the two Death Eaters, his admiration for the man's skills involuntarily surfacing as he saw how he'd captured and dealt them.

He dipped alternately into the wizard's memories of the girl, trying to ferret out where their association had begun, what had prompted it, how long they'd been carrying on. His anger abated slightly as he saw how Severus had tried to deny the attraction, how he'd tried and failed to push the girl away, feeling how difficult it was for the wizard to resist the comfort and temptation she represented. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that despite their transgressions, the pair was at least _trying _to behave in a manner which would maintain the integrity of the school and their places within it.

He could also see - quite clearly - just how much the girl had come to mean to his potions master.

Seeing all he felt he needed to, Dumbledore pulled out of the wizard's head and ended the spell, gazing down at Severus as the man promptly lost consciousness; his features had relaxed in a way that the headmaster could not account for.

"Oh, my boy," he said with a pensive shake of his head. "What have you done?"

* * *

><p>She wanted to see him, wanted to speak with him.<p>

For days since their last meeting in the classroom Hermione had thought of little else than what Professor Snape had shared with her. The wizard had killed - _tortured and killed_ - two human beings, _ended_ two lives, for her. He had done it _for her_. To avenge her parents' death, to give her justice. The implication was almost too much to contemplate. Did it mean he loved her? Surely, he wouldn't do such a thing if he didn't have exceedingly strong feelings for her. But Hermione would not assume that she knew anything about the enigmatic wizard. He was a Death Eater; and while Hermione did not, for a moment, doubt his loyalty to the cause, she knew he must occasionally engage in such violent behavior - however unwillingly. She wouldn't go so far as to say that he _enjoyed_ what he was obliged to do at revels and such, but possibly he had grown accustomed and _desensitized _to it. Perhaps torture and murder didn't mean the same to him as it did to her; perhaps he had grown inured to it over the last twenty years and this act - _these murders_ - were simply a case of justice being done.

She wasn't sorry they were dead, far from it. An alien sense of satisfaction pervaded her being when she thought of it. But the last thing she wanted was for Severus to be punished, to come under fire for this.

She hadn't seen the professor in three days; a fact which in and of itself would only be mildly troubling given that he had a tendency to not appear for meals in the Great Hall for days at a time, but Hermione had nevertheless felt a simmering of doubt and trembling of nerves in her belly that had only grown as the days went on without seeing hide or hair of him. She had tried, without success, to make her way to the dungeons to see him; the few times she'd attempted it, she was nearly seen by Draco and/or his groupies and so - not wanting to draw attention to her interest - she'd stopped trying and merely kept her eyes and ears glued for any sign of him.

When Dumbledore filled in for the professor in that week's Potions class, her nerves erupted into full-blown panic. She tapped her feet anxiously, absentmindedly completing the day's potion (with two incidences of near-explosion), as she waited for class to be over. The headmaster seemed inordinately preoccupied as well, distractedly going through the day's lesson plan with minimal commentary before instructing them to begin brewing. His obvious preoccupation stoked the flames of Hermione's worry; he was thinking about the professor, he _knew_ _something_ about the professor, and Hermione grew more and more agitated as class wore on and scenario after scenario was conjured in her mind.

She managed to make it to the end of class without her cauldron or composure exploding. The headmaster bid the students goodbye and quickly left the room, forcing Hermione to quickly scoop up her things, say a hasty goodbye to the boys and follow after him. His was making his way up the stairs and through the hall in a quick, light-footed pace, azure robes billowing lightly behind him.

When she reached him, the old wizard didn't even slow his pace, brushing her off with a few polite words before she'd even asked her most pertinent questions. Upon mentioning Professor Snape though, he slowed briefly, giving her an inscrutable look before assuring her that the professor was simply under the weather. She tried pushing for more information, but he simply waved her off again before boarding a staircase which promptly lifted away before she had a chance to join him.

_Under the weather_, _my arse_, she thought with a mental growl as she stormed off to the Tower.

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><p>It was two days later before Severus managed to leave his bed, and even then it was against the mediwitch's advice. Poppy and Dumbledore had been checking in on him throughout his convalescence, the former fussing over him incessantly while the latter simply ducked his head in, said a few words of encouragement and well wishes, then ducked out again. It was rather peculiar behavior for the headmaster and Severus' instincts gave him a nudge of apprehension, telling him that Dumbledore was hiding something.<p>

The past few days had been a blur, with the lines between what was real and what was a dream constantly merging. At times, he was sure the girl had managed to break down his wards again and steal into his room. He would hear her sweet voice lulling and comforting him as he lay there, seemingly dying if only something would be done to help him along. He imagined her cool, small hand on his brow, wiping his sweat as the fever worked through him, rattling his bones as his body dried desperately to fight off infection.

He was never quite sure it was her though and so he never spoke to whoever the apparition was. And by the time he began regaining his senses, she had stopped visiting him, which ultimately led Severus to believe she'd been a figment of his delirium.

He couldn't remember much of what had happened since he'd returned to the castle and, consequently, made his way to Dumbledore's office with a head full of questions.

"_Chocolate Frogs_," Severus snarled as he made his way passed the gargoyle guard.

"Severus, my boy," the headmaster greeted him when he pushed into the inner office. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm well, headmaster, thank you," he replied, plopping himself down in one the great leather armchairs which faced the wizard's desk.

"Has Poppy released you from her care, then?" Dumbledore inquired kindly, offering the potions master a lemon drop, which he declined, before popping one in his own mouth.

"If Poppy had her way, we'd all be sleeping on cots on the floor of the hospital wing," he responded with a sigh, running one hand tiredly over his face.

"Your strength is not completely back, I take it?" the headmaster asked, narrowing his blue eyes with concern.

"I am fine, Albus."

"I'm glad to hear it."

They sat quietly, simply regarding one another in silence for a long moment, as though waiting for the other to initiate the - quite obvious - purpose for this meeting. Severus maintained a nonchalant mien, crossing one leg over the other casually as though he had all the time in the world for Albus to begin. The headmaster, for his part, simply leaned back in his seat, conjured a teapot and began making them two strong cups of Earl Grey. The potions master remained as he was, accepting the teacup with a word of thanks before settling back comfortably in the seat as though preparing for one of the exceedingly rare social calls he paid the headmaster once or twice a term.

"Would you like to tell me what happened with Tom?" Dumbledore finally asked when Severus was more than halfway through his cup.

His dark eyes flicked up, keeping his face tipped over the tea. "There seems to be some small defection within his ranks," he began carefully, schooling his features to mild annoyance. "He seems to think I know something of it."

"And do you?"

"Of course not," he lied easily. "Hence my punishment."

"It was a particularly fierce punishment," the headmaster replied with a contemplative nod. "Much more brutal than usual."

"Indeed," he agreed, taking another long sip.

"Who has left him?" Dumbledore asked carefully, his own weathered features set in an expression of casual interest.

Severus met his eye for a moment before breaking contact to set his empty teacup back on the tray before him as he answered, "Nott and Dolohov."

The headmaster regarded him with a quizzical air, his voice deceptively casual as he asked, "Are they not two of Tom's oldest friends?"

"I suppose."

"Seems like a rather _large_ defection, wouldn't you say, Severus?"

"I misspoke," he conceded with a light shrug.

The headmaster regarded him calculatingly, a small smile on his face. "You never misspeak, my boy."

Severus said nothing, holding a staring contest with the headmaster, waiting for him to say something further. The professor was confident in the Occlumency shields he had in place and was quite sure he could stare at Dumbledore all night without the doddering fool seeing so much as an inclination of what the potions master craved for dinner, let alone the information he sought.

"What did you do to them, Severus?" he finally asked with a resigned tone to his voice.

He realized then that the headmaster had employed Legilimency on him at some point during his convalescence. Snape couldn't recall when or how it had occurred; it was quite impossible to conduct the spell on an unconscious person and he could not imagine that he'd been conscious enough to allow it and _not recall it_. He narrowed his eyes at the headmaster, both in thought and in an attempt to jog his memory of the past nights; he considered that perhaps the old man was bluffing. But then, how to play it?

"My dealings with them were regarding a personal matter and do not concern you," he finally replied with more than a note of insolence.

"Personal matter?" the headmaster repeated, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "Since when do your personal matters take precedence over our war efforts, Severus?"

He remained quiet, unable to argue the wizard's point, dark eyes lowering as his hand brushed invisible lint from his pant leg.

"Twenty-years," Dumbledore continued. "Twenty-years and you've never had so much as a personal altercation with any of the other Death Eaters, and now, when we are so close, you would toss it all away for one witch?"

His eyes snapped up at that, a fierce sneer twisting his lips as he regarded the man with open contempt. "_One witch_," he hissed. "She is Potter's _best friend! _And wasn't it you who told me how _instrumental_ she was to winning your thrice-damned war?"

"It's not only my war, Severus, don't forget that," he responded in a tone of warning. "I believe she will be a great asset in winning our war, but that has nothing to do with you." He carried on, ignoring Severus' scoff. "I need you focused. Tom is already suspicious of you; I need your mind and focus on _him_, Severus. Not her."

"The two are mutually exclusive," he snarled, rising from his seat and beginning to pace in a small circle before the headmaster's desk.

"Perhaps they once were, but no longer. You, yourself, have seen to that."

Again, the potions master could not argue the point and merely growled in frustration as he continued pacing, his mind inexplicably ignoring the current dilemma and choosing instead to try and trace the thread back, to see where his control had begun to unravel so thoroughly.

"Why would you do such a thing?" the headmaster muttered, seemingly to himself.

"You've been in my mind, surely you know the answer to that," he retorted sarcastically.

"I don't actually." The professor paused in his pacing and regarded the headmaster intently, waiting for him to elaborate. "Even in your own mind, Severus, your feelings for the girl are unclear."

He contemplated the wizard's words for a moment, wondering what it meant, what all the headmaster had seen and how he'd interpreted it. Leaving those thoughts for another time, he absentmindedly resumed pacing with a shake of his head.

"How long have you been carrying on with her?" Dumbledore asked, though he knew the answer.

The potions master gave him a look of disdain, but did not stop pacing as he replied, "We are not _carrying on_."

"That's not how it seemed to me, Severus."

He glared at the headmaster, feeling the ire coursing through his system in response to this entire situation. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he cracked his neck as he walked and thought how pointless it was for the headmaster to put him through this questioning, as if Severus did not feel enough shame for his actions where the girl was concerned.

"I told her we would wait until she has left school."

"I see," the old wizard replied with a nod of his head.

"You _did_ see, which makes this conversation rather pointless, does it not?" he sneered in the man's direction.

The headmaster didn't reply, simply watching him pace back and forth with a concerned look on his face.

"He knows nothing of the Horcruxes," Snape said firmly, reassuringly, as he returned to the matter at hand. "The Dark Lord did not see our knowledge of them. I told him _nothing_," he hissed, meeting Dumbledore's eyes.

"Not this time."

"He will not learn of it from me," he reiterated, eyes blazing with resolve.

The headmaster gave a weary sigh as he looked into the younger wizard's eyes, feeling as though all his plans, all his back-ups and contingencies were beginning to unravel right before his eyes.

"Do you know how easy it was, Severus? In your state, to peer into your mind and see what was there? I saw it _all," _he stressed, leaning forward slightly in emphasis. "As Tom would have done had he thought to take one last glance before your comrades rendered you unconscious."

The professor stopped pacing, a small panic igniting in his gut at Dumbledore's words. Was it possible? Had he really been _that _close to revealing everything? He didn't remember the headmaster's foray into his mind; what made him so sure he would have remembered the Dark Lord's… or been able to fight it for that matter?

"All we have are the Horcruxes, Severus," the old wizard continued. "Do you understand that? All our efforts, the fate of _our world_, hinges on our ability to find and destroy these objects."

"I know that," he snarled in response.

"If Tom realizes or even _senses_ that we know of them or that we've already destroyed one or that we – indeed – know _how_ to destroy them, he will move them. He will move however many he's made to the ends of the earth and all will be lost. All our efforts, all our _sacrifices_, would have been for nothing."

Severus reeled as he felt the full ramifications of the headmaster's words roll over him, causing a stab of shame in his chest. He turned and began pacing anew, his mind going over the events and what he could do to rectify the situation or minimize the damage. He could feel the familiar self-loathing and sense of failure rising up within him, bringing with them the anger that was their constant companion. He knew he should apologize for what he'd done, should bite out the words and accept the headmaster's lecture quietly and it would all be done, but he was unable to - at least at the moment. And so he kept pacing the floor, silently fuming as he wore a hole in the rug beneath him.

"I am truly sorry Severus," Dumbledore suddenly said, a sad tone to his voice. "But you have left me with no choice."

"No choice? All you have are choices, old man!" he couldn't help but bark in response, turning his back on the wizard again as he paced towards the other end of the office.

"Not as many as you seem to think, my boy," Dumbledore replied with a morose shake of his head, watching the agitated wizard before him.

Severus continued striding up and down the headmaster's floor like a caged tiger, thinking over all that had been said, how _disappointed _Dumbledore was in him, wondering what price he would have to pay for this act, whether an oath or Unbreakable Vow would be required of him. He would apologize; he would say the words, endure the wizard's lecture, and take a fucking _oath _if he required it and they would move on. They would move on as they always did.

Snape was so caught up in his thoughts, pointless justifications and possibilities going forward that he didn't notice the headmaster watching him with a resigned, but firm look…

Nor did he see it when Dumbledore pointed his wand at him and spoke a calm and clear, "_Obliviate_."


	31. Obliviated

**A/N I know! I'm a horrible person for leaving you where I did, but I simply couldn't resist the cliffie :P Your response was awesome though and I read each review with a huge smile plastered on my face :D **

**I only hope this chapter does justice as a follow-up :) **

**I probably won't be posting through the holidays so Merry Christmas to you all! I hope your holidays are full of light, laughter and good cheer! **

**- LDaemon**

**P.S. Thanks for breaking 500 reviews on this story, you guys rock! :D  
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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 31: Obliviated<strong>

Hermione and the boys were summoned to the headmaster's office first thing the following morning, forcing them to bypass breakfast, which Ron found mildly annoying, Harry found puzzling and Hermione found deeply troubling. She still hadn't seen hide or hair of Professor Snape though she did hear a Ravenclaw Prefect mention seeing him heading towards the headmaster's office the previous day; it was a bit of news that Hermione - for some reason - did not find as relieving as she thought she would.

The trio silently made their way up to the office, barely noticing the odd looks from their classmates who were heading down into the Great Hall. Harry mumbled the password and they boarded the steps quietly, each lost in their own thoughts as they waited to alight on the outer office steps.

"Good morning, children. Come in, come in," Dumbledore welcomed them, smile firmly fixed on his face as he ushered them into the room. The trio reciprocated the greeting, taking the seats he'd indicated, fanned out before his great desk.

"I am sorry for the early call," he began. "But we can have a nice little breakfast right here in the office if that's alright."

Ron perked up considerably at this, having whinged about missing breakfast as they were making their way out of the common room. Harry and Hermione responded politely as they accepted the cups of tea sailing their way. The headmaster summoned two house-elves, who took their breakfast orders, returning minutes later bearing trays laden with fried eggs, juicy sausage links, jam and butter toast, orange juice and assorted sides and spreads.

They ate quietly for some time, the headmaster making small talk about NEWTs and their futures, managing to skirt the issue of the Horcruxes, which Harry was quite sure they would all be off hunting once they'd left school. Instead, he spoke about possible careers as Aurors or returning to Hogwarts as professors, a suggestion which caused both Harry and Ron to practically cackle with laughter, before turning to Hermione and asking about apprenticeships. She admitted that both Professor Vector and McGonagall had approached her about possibly returning to apprentice in one of their subjects. She told the headmaster that she hadn't really given either witch an answer, saying that all she could think of at the moment were NEWTs and that she would see how she felt after the Leaving Feast; though all this was said with an air of exasperation since Hermione and Dumbledore both knew why she wouldn't be accepting any apprenticeships for the coming year.

She was growing impatient and irritated with the man and wished he would arrive at the point for this meeting.

Finally, when it seemed like Hermione's nerve endings were completely fried, the headmaster vanished their breakfast plates, steepled his fingers and leveled a grave look their way. The trio straightened up at this nonverbal cue, sitting up in their seats and turning their full attention to the old wizard.

"While this has been a pleasant breakfast," he began, his voice considerably stronger than it had been thus far that morning, "I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked you here so early in the day." The trio nodded at that, keeping quiet as they waited. "I have a rather serious issue to discuss with you; it concerns our war with Tom and certain - developments - that have occurred in that regard."

"With the Horcruxes, you mean?" Harry interrupted.

The headmaster inclined his head thoughtfully. "In a way."

Hermione felt her brows furrow at that. "Shouldn't Professor Snape be here then?" she asked, unable to stop herself.

Dumbledore turned to her with the same inscrutable look he'd fixed her with the day before as he answered, "No, I'm afraid he should not - cannot - be here."

Hermione felt a cold, heavy sort of dread settle into her gut and suddenly found herself wishing she'd skipped breakfast. This wasn't good; whatever the headmaster had to say wasn't going to be good. And why in Merlin's name was he looking at her like that? She took a breath, trying to calm the nerves in her gut and keep her composure as she waited for him to elaborate.

"What does that mean?" Ron asked, drawing the headmaster's gaze from Hermione.

"It means that the issue of these Horcruxes has taken on a significance I could not have anticipated," he said, leveling his gaze at the three of them again. "They are our _only_ means of winning this war, without them we have no hope of defeating Tom, _without_ them our cause is lost."

"We already knew that," Harry replied, shaking his head as he tried to comprehend what Dumbledore was telling them.

"Events have transpired which has... driven the point home, shall we say," the headmaster replied, causing Hermione's eyes to narrow.

"What events?" Ron asked with an exasperated tone, growing impatient with Dumbledore's vague explanations.

"Professor Snape was summoned several days ago." Hermione managed not to gasp at this, some part of her knowing that that must have been the reason for his absence. "Unfortunately, he was punished rather ... harshly... by Tom and the other Death Eaters," he continued, bright blue eyes returning to Hermione.

"But he's alright?" She couldn't keep from asking the question that had been burning a hole in her gut for days.

"He is, yes," the headmaster replied neutrally. "Madam Pomfrey has seen to him."

"Did he tell Voldemort anything about the Horcruxes?" Harry asked, green eyes widening in fear.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, keeping her eyes on Dumbledore, some intuition telling her where this was all going and she struggled to control the indignant ire slowly simmering within her.

"No, he did not." Hermione saw Harry relax infinitesimally out of the corner of her eye; Ron also seemed relieved by this news, although his blue eyes turned quizzical as he wondered what the meeting was about in that case.

"But it was a rather close call in my view," Dumbledore continued carefully, eyes still on Hermione with that same look of intent. She felt herself take another deep breath, but said nothing to that. "I'm afraid Severus' proximity to Tom makes it a rather precarious situation and I find that I am no longer comfortable with him having this knowledge."

_There it is_, Hermione thought, oddly relieved that the headmaster had finally arrived at his point. "You Obliviated him," she said, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.

He fixed his eyes on her again and gave a nod as he replied, "Yes, I did."

She puffed out a breath, breaking eye contact and letting her gaze drift towards the window, slightly shaking her head.

"Obliviated him?" Harry asked. "You don't trust him anymore?" Hermione thought he had an oddly triumphant tone in his voice and felt herself scowl at it.

"It is not a matter of trust, Harry. Professor Snape will continue his work for the Order, for our cause, but he no longer carries any knowledge or recollection concerning the Horcruxes."

"But I thought he was meant to be helping us find them?" Ron interjected.

"He was," the headmaster conceded. "But given that the three of you are soon to be graduating, you will be able to focus your energy on locating and destroying these objects. You will, of course, have my assistance in addition to that of Professor Snape and the Order. They can be helpful without knowing precisely what they are helping with."

Hermione gave an ungainly snort at that, shaking her head again as she watched Fawkes shake out his feathers and reposition himself on his perch. The ire was rapidly building into a blaze of righteous indignation within her. _How dare he?_ How dare he summarily Obliviate the potions master in such a way? The professor had been the most steadfastly loyal, not to mention integral, ally the Order had had for the last twenty years. How dare the headmaster believe that now - _now_ - would be the moment where that strength would falter? Hermione knew that this had to relate, in some way, to the professor's actions concerning those two Death Eaters. How had the headmaster found out about it? Did the professor confide in him concerning the reasons behind Voldemort's punishment? Only for Dumbledore to then turn around and Obliviate the information from his mind? And if that were the case, did the headmaster also know the reason behind the potions master's killing of the two wizards? She lifted her eyes to Dumbledore again, wondering if that were the reasoning behind those inscrutable looks of his. Did he know of her relationship with Professor Snape? She felt her cheeks heat at the thought, followed by a sinking feeling in her gut as her mind followed that train of thought to its logical conclusion: Had the headmaster Obliviated the professor's memories of _her_ as well?

He couldn't have; it was unthinkable. Hermione tried to keep her composure as the thought of starting over with the professor sent a jolt of terror ripping through her.

"So you've Obliviated him completely?" Harry asked. "All knowledge of the Horcruxes is gone?"

"Yes."

"What if we ever do need him to know about it at some point?" Harry continued, brows furrowing as he tried to articulate his thoughts.

"If and when that should occur, I will give the memories back," he replied, leaning back in his seat.

"Give them back?" Ron asked. "But he's been Obliviated, meaning the memories were destroyed, right?"

"Not quite," Dumbledore replied carefully. "They have been... locked away... with a modified Obliviate."

Hermione seized on this tidbit, her mind already reaching the conclusion that if something could be locked, then it could also be unlocked.

It was said that the mark of a great intelligence was the ability to hold two opposing thoughts in mind simultaneously; and Hermione found herself mentally cataloging the tomes and references she needed to pull from the library in order to research this modified Obliviate so she could unlock the professor's memories while - at the same time - her more pragmatic side, which persisted in trusting Dumbledore, thought that perhaps the headmaster had a point. Professor Snape _was_ in a precarious position with the Dark Lord; what if the next time he was punished, they weren't so lucky? What if Voldemort used Legilimency on him and realized they knew of the Horcruxes? Dumbledore was right; those objects _were_ the most important factor in winning this war. If they were moved or placed under increased security, then they might as well throw in the towel now.

If Hermione was being completely honest, she had to admit that the professor's act of vengeance had drawn attention to him... attention which they most certainly did not need.

She wondered whether she would have acted any differently if she were in the headmaster's position. Winning the war _was_ the most important thing, more important than avenging her parents' death, more important than Dumbledore maintaining the potions master's respect for him, more important even than her relationship with the professor.

If she truly thought about it, she couldn't really fault the headmaster for his actions... although that didn't mean she wouldn't try her damnedest to unlock his memories of her if they had in fact been Obliviated as well.

"Locked away?" Harry repeated, pulling Hermione from her thoughts. "What if Voldemort unlocks them?" he continued, asking the question which had drifted to the forefront of Hermione's mind as she wondered whether she would even be able to undo the spell.

The headmaster looked at her as he answered the question, "They can only be unlocked by myself, given that I'm the one who cast the spell."

"What if you should die?" Hermione asked impassively, ignoring the mutters of Harry and Ron as they asserted that such a thing could not happen.

"Then I suppose you will all have to tell him everything from scratch," he replied neutrally.

"This is ridiculous," she huffed, getting to her feet and pacing across the office. "Professor Snape is resourceful... and brilliant... and a Master Occlumens," she added, turning to face the wizards.

Harry scoffed at that. "He can't be that great; I managed to get in his head as a fifth year."

"That was different," she countered with a scowl.

"Why? Because he was unprepared?" he retorted.

She couldn't say anything to that and so continued pacing, thinking over everything that had been said, her mind continuing to list the books and texts she needed to pull to research this Obliviate. Perhaps the headmaster was lying, and unlocking the memories could be done by someone other than the caster. Hermione wondered at the paradox; she trusted Dumbledore to make the right decisions when it came to this war, and yet she was unwilling to simply take him at his word any longer. She would research it and find out for herself, rationalizing that having the knowledge was not tantamount to going against their leader's wishes.

Harry and Ron seemed satisfied by the headmaster's choice and actions, leaning back in their seats without further comment or question, although Harry's eyes continued to track Hermione as she paced in agitation. Conscious of the impression she was giving, she quickly plopped back down in her seat, eyes on the floor.

"We should be off to class then," she commented, suddenly very much wanting to be out of Dumbledore's presence, this war of contradicting emotions continuing to wage within her.

"Of course," the headmaster replied with a nod. The trio stood to leave, halting in the act of rising from their seats as Dumbledore added, "But first, I will require a Wand Oath."

They all sat back down, Hermione repeating indignantly, "A Wand Oath?"

"Yes, Miss Granger," he said coolly.

"You cannot be serious," she argued with a slight sneer. Dumbledore noted how uncomfortably familiar that expression looked.

"Headmaster," Harry said, wrinkling his brow, "surely, you trust us not to say anything to him."

"As I've previously said, Harry," Dumbledore replied in a solicitous tone. "It is not a matter of trust, but one of preparedness." Hermione gave another snort at that, but the headmaster ignored her and continued, "A simple Wand Oath promising not to mention anything regarding Horcruxes or the Obliviation of Severus to anyone outside the four of us until such a time as I deem it acceptable or am no longer alive to do so should suffice."

"Oh, is that all?" Hermione remarked sarcastically. Harry shot her a quizzical look, unused to hearing such insolence from her towards a figure of authority.

"Yes," the headmaster replied, unmindful of her tone. "That is all."

Hermione kept the sneer on her face, but said nothing further. Unable to discern a way out of submitting to the Wand Oath, she pulled the length of vine out of her pocket and stood with Harry and Ron as they repeated the headmaster's words.

She was quiet as she followed the boys back down the staircase and through the halls, her mind warring with itself about whether to go research in the library or see the professor first. She was terrified of what she would find; would he not remember how he felt about her? Was his recollection of their agreement completely wiped out? Would she have to start all over now? She had an urge to completely avoid the situation, too fearful of confronting a sneering, caustic Snape to attempt it.

"At least Dumbledore finally realizes Snape can't be trusted," Ron commented as they turned a railing on one of the grand staircases.

Hermione huffed and shot him a glare. "That's not what he said at all, Ronald," she snarled. "Were you even listening to him?'

She didn't wait for a reply, hopping off the staircase and catching another one that would take her towards her Ancient Runes class, hearing the boys muttering about her behavior, but paying them no mind as she walked towards her destination.

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><p>Hermione was barely present in her classes that, her mind continuing to mull over everything she'd learned that morning, trying to assimilate it, pull it apart and examine the threads to discern exactly what it all meant. She, begrudgingly, believed the headmaster when he said it was not a matter of trust and could understand the pragmatism involved as it was an attribute she had always prided herself in having.<p>

But this presented a whole host of issues to think about, she realized as she made her way from class to the library, opting to skip dinner in the Great Hall as she had skipped lunch. She and the professor had agreed to pursue their relationship following her graduation and while such a thing would have been difficult if she and the boys were running around the country in search of Horcruxes, it was going to be damn near impossible if he was unaware of what she was doing. She knew the professor well enough to know that he would not tolerate such secrecy from her for long. What if he delved into her mind again and found out about the Horcruxes? Would that count as telling him? She knew he had promised not to invade her mind in such a way again, but she wasn't so naive as to think it couldn't possibly reoccur.

The headmaster had boxed her into a nice little corner in regards to her relationship with Professor Snape and she was incredibly resentful of it.

A hand suddenly shot out of the fourth floor shadows, grasping her arm and pulling her into the darkness. An indignant yelp rose up in her throat, silenced by a large hand covering her mouth and the impossibly dark eyes of Severus Snape staring down at her. She felt wards and Silencing Charms rise up around them, the realization causing a delicious throb of want in her quim. He removed his hand from her mouth, using it instead to push some wayward curls behind her ear as he leaned into her, the other hand braced on the wall behind her. A feeling of relief so strong coursed through her that her legs trembled, threatening to collapse beneath her. He remembered; for whatever reason, Dumbledore had spared the professor's memories of her... of them.

The witch's amber eyes devoured him, scanning his features intently before running down over his form, seeming to try and find any hint of injury or ailment.

"Why have you skipped all of today's meals?" he asked in low drawl, dark eyes roaming freely across her face.

_And the lies begin_, she thought dejectedly, lowering her eyes from his as her hands involuntarily trailed over his torso. "I was studying," she finally replied.

His finger hooked under her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Studying?" he repeated, narrowing his eyes at her.

She nodded in response; with NEWTs less than two weeks away, he couldn't possibly think she was lying.

"Hmm," he hummed noncommittally, though he didn't seem to quite believe her, and placed his other hand on the wall, bracketing her head as his eyes continued sweeping her form.

She carefully trailed her hands up his robes while he watched their progress with a wary look; reaching his face, she slowly trailed her fingers over his features, trying to assess him, take in his presence, the measure of this wizard before her.

"Are you alright?" she asked, tracing his thick brows with her fingers.

"Yes."

"Liar," she said softly, fingers now tracing his thin, soft lips. "He hurt you." It was a statement, not a question.

"I'm fine," he replied, turning his head and kissing the tips of her fingers as one hand held her wrist to keep it in place.

"Are you really?" she asked worriedly, eyes brimming with tears over everything that had occurred, wondering if at some point she could have prevented any of it.

His eyes narrowed again when he saw her tears and he carefully leaned forward, kissing them off her face with a gentleness that caused an exquisite ache to explode in Hermione's chest, only making her cry harder. He shushed her gently, his warm honey breath puffing over her cheeks lightly and she surged forward, tucking herself into his warm, broad chest and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. He stiffened momentarily, seeming shocked by the outburst, but he - nevertheless - brought his own arms around her, one hand smoothing her hair while the other ran soothingly up and down her back.

"What has upset you?" he asked after a moment, looking down at the head of wild curls tucked into his chest.

"I haven't seen you for days," she said, sniffling as she tried to answer. "You weren't at meals and then Dumbledore took over your class and I thought -" She became progressively more hysterical as she tried to explain things and he cut her off with more hushing, rocking her slightly in his arms as he kept running his hands over her back and head to comfort her.

"It's alright," he said in a low tone, pitched for her ears alone despite the Silencing Charms he'd thrown up. "I'm alright. I've faced him before, Hermione; been punished before. It was harsh, but I've endured worse."

The witch didn't seem as comforted by this as he'd thought she'd be and only cried harder, burying her face further into his chest, her arms tightening around his waist. He really was no good at this; what experience did he have in consoling witches? None, none whatsoever. But despite his deficiency, he simply stood there quietly, soothing her with utter nonsense as he rubbed her back while she cried.

Eventually she pulled back and looked up at him sheepishly, as though embarrassed by her behavior, but he merely quirked his lips at her and swiped his thumbs under her eyes to dry them.

"Go down to supper," he said softly. "You need to eat. You'll be no good to anyone if you collapse from malnutrition."

She pouted slightly but didn't argue, merely leaning into the palm cupping her cheek as she asked, "Will you come down to eat as well?" He grunted in amusement at that, but nodded his head.

She gave him a small smile before moving away and back towards the hallway. He abruptly caught her and pulled her back, gathering her up in his arms and pressing his lips to hers.

Oh, how he had needed this, Severus thought as he moved his mouth over hers, feeling her open to him immediately. She was relaxed and content in his arms, he could feel it, and the fact sent a shiver of unbridled joy rippling through him. Merlin, he wanted this witch, wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

Hermione let herself get swept up into his kiss; gathered in his arms like that, surrounded by him, she'd never felt so safe in her life. She pushed all thoughts of Horcruxes and Obliviates and all the rest of it into the furthest recesses of her mind and simply allowed herself this moment of happiness and comfort.

Best to get comfort while they could, she thought wryly; who knew what else the future would bring?


	32. Gratitude

**A/N Happy Holidays everyone! Hope you had a lovely time with all your loved ones :D **

**This is kind of a 'quiet' chapter, but necessary I felt. I hope you enjoy it :D Your reviews make me smile, and I am genuinely appreciative and humbled by the encouragement and support I've gotten from you all. **

**_Coming Up: Encounters, Leaving Feasts and Lemons galore! :D_  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 32: Gratitude<strong>

"Dumbledore said we shouldn't use Grimmauld Place after we leave school," Harry said apropos of nothing one afternoon early the following week. He was in Hermione's room, flipping through his Transfiguration text while Hermione went over her study notes; Ron had abandoned them an hour back, claiming a need for sunshine.

"Hmm," she hummed absentmindedly, not lifting her head from the parchment before her.

"He said the Order would continue meeting there. And that he didn't want us joining the meetings."

That got her attention and Hermione lifted her eyes to his with a puzzled look. "Why not?"

Harry shrugged and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Dunno. Said he'd prefer if the Order thought we were on some mission he'd sent us on and that he wanted to maintain a wall between us and the inner circle while he decided how much they should know about what we're doing."

"He's making an awful lot of unilateral decisions," she huffed in reply, flipping her parchment over to scribble additional notes.

"I think he's afraid one of us will slip and mention something we shouldn't," he replied, eying her warily, wondering if her heightened agitation was simply due to the upcoming exams. She scoffed at his theory, not pausing in her note-taking to respond to him.

"Anyway," Harry continued. "He said he would help us with provisions and things we would need."

"Things we would need?" she repeated, furrowing her brows at him.

"Well, we can't stay at The Burrow for the same reason. And I don't think the Dursleys would let us stay there," he finished with a chuckle.

She gave a small smile in return as she thought over what he was saying. "So, by provisions you mean..."

"A tent, maybe an expandable one like we used at the World Cup, and supplies and stuff."

"So he means for us to go camping?" she said sarcastically.

"I think so." He nodded.

She gave a dark chuckle, shaking her head at that and looking back down at her notes.

"You know?" he began carefully. "You and Ron don't _have _to come with -"

"Don't be daft, Harry," she admonished with a firm shake of her head. "Of course, we're coming with you. Does he have any idea where we should start?"

"No," he admitted with a sigh. "He's still looking. I told him we should check Godric's Hollow and he said he would go there to have a look, but..." He trailed off with a shrug.

"Hmm," she hummed again. "Maybe something will 'present' itself," she suggested mockingly.

He chuckled at her repeating of the 'reassuring' phrase Dumbledore had said to them all those meetings ago when they were discussing how to go about destroying the Horcruxes.

"I still don't understand why he Obliviated Snape," he said after a moment.

Hermione kept her head down, scribbling on her parchment. "He told us why."

"But it doesn't make sense," he argued. "I mean nothing has changed. Snape is in the exact same position he was in before, we knew all along how important the Horcruxes were... nothing is different."

"Professor Snape was very badly wounded," she replied neutrally.

Harry was quiet for so long that Hermione finally lifted her eyes from the book before her and looked at him. He looked tired and weary and they hadn't even started their search yet. It occurred to her then that he was just a boy; they were all barely adults. What was Dumbledore thinking putting them in charge of finding these objects? Perhaps the old wizard really was losing it, as Ron was apt to remark whenever the headmaster said or did something inexplicable. Should they be placing all their trust, all their hope, in this potentially senile wizard? Was he really the best person to be leading them through this?

Her mother had always said that you knew you were an adult when you started seeing "adults" as people, when you started questioning and doubting their reasoning, when you saw them make mistakes... Merlin knew Dumbledore had made more than his share of mistakes over the years.

"You really don't think it's because he doesn't trust him anymore?" he asked after a long moment of silence. She looked up into his worried eyes.

"I really don't, Harry."

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><p>That week found Hermione in an all-out, obsessive studying panic that her classmates had not seen since fifth year just before OWL week. And if anything, NEWTs had driven Hermione's study frenzy up ten-fold. She spent the week between the library, her room and the Room of Requirement where she was still conducting revisions for the study group. It was the last week of classes and attendance was optional, as the seventh years were free to spend the remaining time at school studying for exams on their own or in groups, although several professors would still hold informal study hours whereby the students could get in any last-minute questions or clarify any matters they were unsure of.<p>

In between her manic study and revision schedule, Hermione scoured the library for any and all texts referencing Memory Charms and/or Obliviates. She, predictably, ended up with well over forty books and encyclopedias, pouring over them relentlessly in her little nook tucked away in the corner of the library. She found pages upon pages of theory and application regarding the advanced magic, but nothing whatsoever on Obliviates that had been modified in the manner Dumbledore had spoken of. The only thing even remotely similar was a one-page reference to altering memories, whereby the caster changes certain elements of a memory rather than Obliviating them, which really wasn't very helpful at all. The only thing Hermione could conclude, much to her chagrin, was that the modification was tailor-made by the headmaster, in which case, there could be no hope of her unlocking it.

The final Potions class that week was a subdued affair; Professor Snape seemed content to dispense with his lectures and merely leaned against his desk, inviting the handful of students in attendance to ask questions or air any concerns they may have about the exams. After some hesitation from the class, students began raising their hands - tentatively - to request clarifications on certain potions or ask procedural questions about the upcoming exam. The professor answered their questions patiently, for the most part, though he remained snippy whenever exceedingly basic questions were raised.

"You have been in my class for seven years, Mr. Bernard," he snapped at one of his Slytherins. "If you still do not know the ten uses of Asphodel, then perhaps you should sit out the exam."

Hermione ducked her head to hide her snicker at that; Harry and Ron had skived off this last class and so she was sat alone at their worktable in the back. She really didn't need to attend this class; she was well-ahead on revisions and was quite confident in her knowledge on the subject. But she had wanted to see the professor; she wanted any excuse to see him. And so she attended the class, keeping her head down and not asking any questions, but merely watching him in amusement as he alternated between snapping at students and answering their questions with a kind of begrudging patience.

Finally class was over and Professor Snape dismissed the students with a rather genuine-sounding 'Good Luck'; Hermione lingered at her table, slowly collecting her materials to put away, while the other students seemed to race each other out the door.

When the last person had vacated the room, Hermione wordlessly threw up Silencing Charms and wards on the door, earning a raised eyebrow from her professor, who remained leaning against his desk at the front of the room. She left her things on the table and slowly walked up the aisle towards him. His dark eyes swept leisurely up and down her form, a burning kind of intensity simmering in their depths which sparked a throbbing between her legs. The reactions this man inspired in her were remarkable and she was constantly surprised by the need that arose in her whenever she was in his presence.

She came to a stop before him, lifting her eyes to his with a small smile. His lips quirked minutely in response, but the intensity in his eyes did not lessen.

"It was a good class," she commented, rather inanely.

"I'm glad you approved of it," he drawled in response, tilting his head at her slightly bashful demeanor.

She pushed a stray curl back behind her ear, dropping her eyes to his feet as she thought about what she wanted to say. He remained quiet for a moment before reaching forward and tilting her head back up so that she met his eye. His features softened as he looked at her, fingers lightly caressing her jawline and cheek.

"I wanted to thank you," she said softly, unconsciously leaning into his touch.

"For what?" he asked, eyes watching his hand as he stroked her cheek.

"Everything," she replied with a slight shrug. "You've been a wonderful teacher." He gave a snort of disbelief and smirked at her. "Perhaps not _wonderful_," she amended. "But certainly one of the best." She leaned into his touch again. "I learned so much from you."

Severus found himself unnerved - yet again - by the girl's sincerity and gentleness. Where such sentiment would seem trite and promptly written off as pointless sentimentality from any other Gryffindor, he could see that the girl was sincere. No one had ever thanked him before; he didn't have any illusions of his popularity with the student body, but he did pride himself on the standard of NEWT-level students he had produced. Though no one had mentioned it, save Dumbledore once or twice, NEWT scores in Potions had been steadily rising in the years since he'd taken over the post. That might have something to do with him only accepting students who had Exceeded Expectations on their OWLs in the subject, but he also liked to think that his teaching methods had been effective in them reaching such levels.

He didn't know how to respond to her and she seemed to be watching him with an amused kind of patience, as though she knew he would find it difficult to accept her gratitude. He abruptly grabbed her upper arms and turned her, switching their positions so she was now leaned up against his desk. Placing his hands on the desktop on either side of her, he leaned into the witch, taking in her jasmine scent.

"Perhaps there is more I have yet to teach you," he drawled, skimming his nose across her cheek towards her ear.

"I certainly hope so," she responded, tilting her head to afford him easier access, her small hands drifting up his chest.

He chuckled into her throat, unable to stop himself from placing firm, possessive kisses to her soft skin, reveling in her responses as she leaned into his touch, her hands wrapping around his head and tangling in his hair as she pressed his face more firmly into her. He took her invitation, suckling and kissing at her warm, sweet neck, his hands coming away from the desk to lightly skim her sides. His kisses worked their way to her collarbone, tongue dipping into the hollow at the base of her throat, earning a delightful gasp from the witch. He felt his fingers begin to unconsciously pull the buttons of her shirt loose as his lips drifted further down her chest; she gave a sigh of pleasure, leaning back and pushing her breasts forward for his attention. Severus could not resist suckling lightly on the flesh at the top of one bra-cup, nipping at it gently, causing her fingers to tighten in his hair and another gasp to be pulled from her.

"I need you," he whispered against her breastbone, nuzzling his long nose deeper into her shirt, trying to take in as much of her glorious scent as he could.

"It's okay," she gasped, fingers tightening in his hair even more as she pushed herself against him. "No one has to know."

He lifted his head and met her eyes with a small knowing smile. "I will know," he said, repeating the phrase she had shot at him in anger and hurt all those weeks ago. Merlin, it seemed like a lifetime.

She pouted at him, delectable lips pursing, and he sighed as his cock twitched in frustration. Standing upright, he pulled her shirt back together, refastening the buttons.

"You and your damned sense of honor," she huffed, bringing her hands back down to his torso.

"Only a couple of weeks left," he murmured.

"And then what?" she whispered eagerly, unconsciously leaning her chest into his hands.

He smirked at her, his fingers trailing lightly up her front before cupping her face. He tilted her head up and leaned into her, his heart lifting as her eyes drifted close and her lips parted in greeting.

"No sense in ruining the surprise," he whispered centimeters from her lips before releasing her face and stepping back.

"Horrid man," she muttered with another pout.

He chuckled at her, running his fingers through his hair. "Away with you," he said with an imperial wave of his hand, "before I lose all sense of decorum."

She gave a small laugh at that, nodding her head in acquiescence; stepping forward to go past him, she lifted her hand and lightly caressed his cheek, her eyes soft and filled with longing as they met his. He turned his face and placed a kiss to her palm. Running a thumb across his thin lips, Hermione let her hand drop, made her way to the back of the class, retrieved her things and left the room.


	33. Accosted

**A/N I broke 100,000 words with my last chapter and didn't even realize it! Don't know why, but it made me do a little happy dance :p**

_**Coming up: Leaving Feasts and those lemons y'all are craving ;)**_

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 33: Accosted<strong>

The week of NEWTs saw Hermione frazzled in a way that her friends and classmates had never seen before. She said little-to-nothing to anyone, merely grunting 'yes or no' in reply to any questions that came her way while ignoring those that required a more elaborate response. Her head rarely lifted from whatever textbook or notes she had in front of her and she was rarely even seen unless it was in the Great Hall for meals - which the boys dragged her to forcefully - or in class for an exam. She had even abandoned her much-beloved library, doing all of her revisions in her room to avoid the classmates who insisted on asking her last minute questions about the next day's tests.

Even Harry and Ron stopped coming to her room to revise, preferring to stay with the study group going over the subjects together rather than face her snapping at them to stop badgering her with questions... much safer to remain in a group setting. More than once, the group of students would give up and head to the professor of whatever subject they were on and ask their questions.

On one of Hermione's last visits to the library, she was looking through Arithmancy references when she felt subtle wards spring up around her little nook, which immediately sent a ripple of excitement running through her. She looked up and saw Professor Snape striding down one of the stacks, his dark eyes drinking her in as he approached. Hermione was struck again by just how powerful this wizard was; it seeped out of his pores, this quiet, steely strength that thrilled and comforted her in equal measure. He was brilliant; brilliant and strong and mesmerizing and she desperately wanted him for her own.

He came to a stop before her, glancing down at the myriad texts and notebooks before her with an amused quirk of his lips.

"Hello," she said with a small smile.

"Hello," he drawled in reply, his low baritone rumbling pleasantly through her.

She fingered the parchment before her shyly as she waited for him to speak, but he seemed content to merely look at her. She looked up at him questioningly and his lips quirked again, which she met with a shy smile and bite of her lower lip. A dark intensity filled his eyes as they went to her mouth, watching her worry her lip. The air around them crackled with tension, Hermione could almost swear she felt their magic swirling around them, the strands seeming to try to reach out and touch one another.

"So lovely," he finally murmured, shaking his head in what looked like disbelief.

She ducked her head, feeling her cheeks heat with a blush at his words and look. When she looked up again though, he had drawn himself back up, returning to his professor persona as his dark eyes scanned the library around them.

"Have you thought on where you will go once you graduate?" he suddenly asked.

Hermione lowered her head again, stomach plummeting. She fingered the parchment some more as she answered, "I haven't thought much about anything not regarding NEWTs."

"I assume you'll go to The Burrow when you leave here," he commented. She could feel his eyes locked on her and kept her own down on the table.

"Hmm," she hummed in affirmation. "Or Grimmauld Place."

"Following Potter wherever he goes," the professor said in an oddly resigned tone, as though this were something he was quite familiar with.

She looked up into his eyes. "I have to stay with him, _fight _with him, until we win."

Severus gave the fierce lioness before him a long, searching look. Of course, she would remain with Potter; he was quite familiar with the devotion Potters inspired in witches. _That's not fair_, a voice in his mind argued; the girl had been swept up in Potter's fight since she was a first year solving his logic riddle, he couldn't reasonably expect her to abandon the boy now. That rationalization did nothing to stop this twinge of envy in his gut though.

But he said none of that, simply nodding his head as he looked at her.

"And our agreement?" he asked, happy that his tone was not as tremulous as he felt.

She was going to cry; Hermione was going to break down into sobs before she could answer the professor. Damn the headmaster to the lowest ring of hell for putting her in this position. She hated lying to him, hated it with every fiber of her being. She knew, _she knew_, that they would be unable to pursue their relationship with her gallivanting around the country with the boys. If they were stationary at The Burrow or headquarters, then perhaps she and the professor could steal time to themselves. But with this _plan _of Dumbledore's - though calling it a 'plan' was exceedingly generous - it would be quite impossible. She doubted whether she would even be able to contact Severus at all while they were gone. What would Dumbledore say to him? How would he explain the trio's absence to the Order? Severus would feel so betrayed, knowing she had lied, knowing she had known that they would be unable to pursue a relationship when she left the school and hadn't told him.

She should renege; she should backtrack now, hedge her response, tell him that perhaps they should postpone until the war was resolved or at least until her role in the war was more defined.

It was only fair.

It was the right thing to do.

Better than betraying his trust in such a way.

She looked up at him, seeing his black eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded her, a small hint of uncertainty clouding their depths. His posture was erect, mouth set into a firm line, as though he were just waiting for her to say those things she was thinking, as though he'd been waiting for her to say them for weeks now.

"Our agreement stands," she heard herself say, feeling simultaneous joy and despair at the clear relief that swept across his face, softening his features immediately.

He gave another quirk of his lips, which Hermione was coming to recognize as his smile, inclined his head, turned and walked away, his wards dropping effortlessly behind him.

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><p>All week Hermione moved from exam hall to exam hall, a growing sense of catharsis washing over her as one-by-one she wrapped up her subjects; when she was done with an exam, she would return to her room, fold up her notes and tidy up her books on that topic and tuck them away in her school trunk. However, it didn't help to stop her state of manic studying as her exams were scheduled in a haphazard manner, difficult subjects mixed in with the easier ones so that there was no lessening of tension as the week wore on.<p>

Professor Snape was invigilating the Ancient Runes exam midway through the week and watched with a mixture of horror and amusement as the witch bustled into the exam hall, plopping down at a desk in the back and letting her over-sized school bag drop to the floor with a thud. She had circles under her eyes, ink stains on her fingers and her hair was a mass of bushy frizz surrounding her head. She looked very much like that orange beast he'd seen trailing her through the courtyard and grounds during the weekends. But despite the mess on her head and the smudges of ink on her fingertips and temples, despite the circles under her eyes and her generally frazzled state, he still found her to be the loveliest of creatures.

She didn't look up at him, didn't even seem to notice that he was in the room, too caught up in the parchment she was giving a last minute glance at. The ministry official who was overseeing the exam with him announced that it was time to put all material away; at that point, the girl did raise her head, tucking the parchment into her bag and catching his eye. She gave a little start of surprise before turning her attention back to the official. He watched her surreptitiously as he wandered the perimeter of the room, noting with amusement when she began lightly preening herself. Her hands went to her hair, trying in vain to pat it down, before casting a silent '_Tergio_' on herself to rid her face and hands of ink stains. He felt a ripple of delight shudder through him at the actions she took so clearly on his behalf, little did she know how beautiful he found her in all her dishevelment.

As soon as the exam papers dropped before her though, she bent over the test and began scribbling away, no longer paying any attention whatsoever to her surroundings. Severus patrolled the perimeter of the room, keeping an eye on the students, his gaze lingering perhaps a tad longer on the bushy-haired Gryffindor tearing through her exam like a mad person.

Three hours later, the exam was over and the girl had brand new ink smudges across her brow; Snape managed to contain his smirk as he watched her hand in her papers, gather her things and - with one last glance in his direction - vacate the room.

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><p>Hermione made her way through the halls, head down as she surveyed her Charms notes for the following day's exam, all thoughts of Ancient Runes placed firmly behind her. She had adopted a practice of trying not to think and obsess over her answers after she left the exam room. She had done so the first day and ended up wasting the whole afternoon going through Transfiguration books to check her answers. It wasn't worth it and so she resolved to not think about it; if she persisted in wondering about certain answers she'd given, she jotted them down with a plan to check them once exam week was over.<p>

As she was rounding a corner, Hermione was gripped firmly by the arm and pulled into a shadowy alcove. The scent that hit her nostrils though did not fill her with the delicious anticipation she was accustomed to and when she was pressed into the wall, it was the cold, gray eyes of Draco Malfoy she was looking into rather than the beloved black ones she wanted.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she snapped, wrenching her arm from his grip.

"Calm down, Granger," he replied with a grin, raising his hands in supplication. "Just wanted to talk."

"We have nothing to talk about," she countered in an exasperated tone.

"Have you thought anymore on what we spoke about?" he asked, leaning into her with lascivious smirk.

"Of course not," she huffed, trying to slide back out towards the hall.

He gripped her arm again, keeping her in place, and leaned in further, the other hand drifting up to her face. She squirmed in his grip but he had her arm pinned against her side and over the pocket where she kept her wand. She tried moving the other way, but his hand covered her head, holding her in place.

"Come on, Granger," he murmured softly, as though trying to calm a wild animal. He pushed her curls back from her hairline and rubbed at a smudge of ink on her brow. "You can't honestly tell me you haven't thought about it."

"Actually, I can," she growled in reply, trying to squirm out of his grip, her fingers digging into his arms to pry them off of her.

He caught her hands and pinned them to the wall, dipping his face to hers, close enough that she could smell the freshening charm on his breath. She turned her face away, pushing against him in vain, as he touched his lips to the side of her face.

"Get away from me, Malfoy!" she shouted.

"I promise you'll like it," he said, ignoring her shouting, confident in the Silencing Charms he'd put up, though he had hoped they'd be drowning out _other _noises. "I'll be gentle."

"No!" she cried out, moving to knee him in the crotch, but he had already pushed a leg between hers and was pressing too close for her to do anything. She felt his arousal pressing into her hip as his lips moved to the skin behind her ear. "Stop it!"

"Such soft skin," he murmured before licking at her earlobe.

She gave a cry of disgust at that and wrenched to the side, managing to dislodge one of his arms and shouldered him in the chest. He looked at her in surprise before his gray eyes darkened with lust and he took a step back towards her, gripping her arm again when she'd turned to run away.

He pulled her back against the wall and she met his eyes, wand raised at his chest. "Are you going to rape me, Draco?" she asked, eyes flaring, lips curled into a snarl, prepared to hex him to within an inch of his life.

He released her at that and backed off, seeming genuinely surprised that she would say such a thing.

"Of course not!" he replied indignantly, seeming affronted by the very idea of having to take someone against their will. "I thought," he began, shaking his head of ice-blond hair as he looked at his feet. "I thought you were just pretending. That you wanted me to try harder."

She gave a mirthless laugh at that, shocking him into meeting her eye again. "What part of 'I am not attracted to you' did you fail to comprehend?" she asked sarcastically. "How could you possibly think I would have any feelings for you other than loathing and perhaps pity?"

He furrowed his brow at that, eyes dimming slightly as though she'd genuinely hurt him. Hermione could not figure the Slytherin out. What was he doing? What was his aim? Why did he persist in pursuing her like this? He'd made it clear many, many times how repulsive he found her; at the start, she'd figured he was just messing with her, trying to torment her further in their final term at school. But this was going too far, even for the Slytherin.

"Look," he began, eyes locked on hers. "I know we've never been friends." She scoffed at that. "Or even civil to one another, but 'loathing' seems a bit much, don't you think?"

"No."

His brow furrowed again at that and he gave her a rather innocent look - all things considered - as he said, "I don't loathe you."

"Then you're a much bigger person than I," she replied sarcastically, wanting nothing more than for this encounter to come to an end.

"We're not children anymore," he said. "Things change. I'm not the same thirteen-year-old you punched that day."

"Could have fooled me," she muttered under her breath, earning a scowl from the blond before her. She gave a sigh. "Your father tried to kill me, has _persisted _in trying to kill me," she said, eyes flashing as she remembered that horrible day in the Ministry. "Perhaps he was even involved in the decision to murder my parents." She caught Draco's wince at that. "How can you imagine I would feel any other way about _you_?"

"I am not my father," he countered with a growl.

"Aren't you, though?" she retorted with a scoff. "I heard you bragging to your friends about how he was taking you under his wing, about how right he was about _Mudbloods_." He winced again at that, eyes going hard as he watched her ire build. "You're just like him," she continued. "You've never been anything but a mini-Lucius." That said, she turned away from him and back towards the hall.

"I don't have a choice," he said quietly, his voice low and monotonous.

She turned back to face him. "There's always a choice," she replied, eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "And not acting based on your own mind, _your own _beliefs, that - in itself - is a choice."

His eyes were locked on hers, an inscrutable look on his face, the sharpness of his features preventing her from reading his expression. She didn't wait for a reply, but turned her back on the blond and left the alcove without another word.


	34. Feast or Famine

**A/N Thanks so much, again, for all your kindness and support. I would love to respond to each and every one of your reviews, but I am super focused on this story right now. Be assured, though, that they are all greatly appreciated! **

**Not sure whether I'll have another update before Sunday so Happy New Year to you all! I hope 2012 is filled with all the good things you hope for! **

**xoxo**

**-LDaemon**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 34: Feast or Famine<strong>

And just like that, it was over.

NEWTs week had come and gone, dorm rooms were being packed up, goodbyes were being said and the Leaving Feast was upon them. Hermione and the boys had a rather more subdued air than their classmates, knowing what was ahead for them. They had sent the majority of their things to The Burrow, Hedwig and Crookshanks included, and only kept the bare minimum of provisions and supplies with them.

Hermione had finally perfected the Undetectable Extension Charm she'd been working on and had managed to successfully cast the spell on her and the boys' bags, allowing them to carry significantly more than they otherwise would have been able to. Dumbledore gave Hermione a small smile when Harry had explained it during a mid-week meeting with the headmaster before pulling out a small canvas bag that he'd similarly charmed for the trio; but she'd remained rather somber and cold during the meeting, nodding along at the headmaster's directives and offering small suggestions and alterations as he explained what they would be doing over the coming weeks.

He had assured them that while Hedwig would not be with them, given how easily identifiable she was, he would nevertheless be communicating regularly with the trio through the use of Patroni and Fawkes; the headmaster ignored Hermione when she commented that Fawkes was significantly more easily identified, merely assuring them that the phoenix would be stealth about any communications.

She saw very little of Professor Snape that final week; he seemed to have retreated to his potions lab and was only seen during meals in the Great Hall and on patrols through the hallways.

She caught his eye on one such patrol; she was making her way back to the Tower for a small Gryffindor House party to celebrate their graduation. He was walking in the opposite direction towards the dungeons and she saw his obsidian eyes subtly trail up and down her as she walked towards him. Mindful of a hall full of students, Hermione didn't stop, merely glancing up at him with the smallest of smiles - catching the quirk of his lips as he reciprocated - and continued on her way.

"My dear." Hermione heard the voice calling to her as she rounded a corner.

"Hello, Professor Vector," she replied with a smile, turning to face the older witch.

"How did your NEWT go?"

"It went well, I think; thank you," she said with a nod.

"Wonderful," her professor replied. "Of course, you have a natural proficiency for the subject so I wouldn't be surprised if you scored perfect marks on it."

She gave a laugh at that and said, "Oh, I'm sure I must have gotten at least one wrong."

"I'm certain you did exceedingly well, my dear," she replied with a pat on Hermione's arm. "Have you given any further thought to your apprenticeship next year?" she asked, narrowing her dark eyes at her student. "You know that applications have to be in by the end of July."

"I do know," she answered with a thoughtful nod. "Unfortunately, I haven't quite made up my mind just yet, what with exams this week and everything."

"I know it's a stressful time, dear, but you mustn't procrastinate. I've already received several applications from a few Ravenclaws and you know I can only take one."

"Oh, professor," she replied with a concerned look. "Please don't let me be a factor in your decision. If someone has come along that you feel is right for the apprenticeship, then please offer it to them."

The witch wrinkled her brows at that, tilting her head as she said, "Are you telling me you do not wish to apprentice in Arithmancy?"

"No," Hermione countered sincerely, biting her lower lip. "Only that I haven't really made up my mind yet and I don't want you to have to wait until I do."

"Ah, yes, well, I won't be submitting my offer until early August so I won't be waiting on you in particular," she replied with a smile.

Hermione smiled back at one of her favorite teachers and nodded, promising to give the matter very careful thought before bidding the professor 'goodbye' and continuing on her way.

* * *

><p>The day of the Leaving Feast dawned bright and clear. It was a perfect late June day; the sky was clear of clouds, the weather balmy and the sun shone brightly down on the grounds of Hogwarts. The weather was so exceptional that Professor McGonagall and Co. opted to have the Leaving Feast outside on the castle grounds rather than in the Great Hall as custom dictated. She and members of her staff had worked tirelessly for days to set up and organize the affair on an expanse of greenery halfway between the castle and the Quidditch pitch; rows and rows of chairs were set up for family and friends while a section in the front was cordoned off for members of the graduating class. The professors would be lined up on the grand stage where the students would pass in order to accept their diplomas from the headmaster. This would be followed by a grand meal prepared especially for the graduating class whereby the house-elves would be featuring favorite dishes of the individual students that they had taken note of over the years.<p>

Severus kept out of the way, avoiding Minerva and her minions as much as he could in order to avoid being drafted into the preparations committee at the last moment. He spent the day in his laboratory working on his myriad experiments and trying very hard not to think of the witch. He felt a nervous hum of excitement in his gut, a thrilling sensation that he had not experienced for longer than he could remember. They had no plans arranged, had not spoken a word to one another since that day in the library; and he wondered whether he ought to have made specific arrangements with her. She could conceivably run off with her friends and classmates to celebrate in Merlin-knew what fashion. He ought to have invited her to see him following the Feast or something. Severus growled to himself as he stirred one of the potions he had brewing; perhaps he could slip in a word with her at some point before the ceremony or after the food had been served, perhaps a shared look would be all he needed to convey the message. He shook his head and snarled at the cauldron; he really was no good at this.

Hermione took one last look around her chambers; everything had been packed up and all she had remaining was her Charmed beaded bag. Her dresser, cupboard and bathroom were bare, everything packed away and sent to The Burrow. When she stepped out of the Tower this afternoon, it would likely be for the final time. She was saying goodbye to a place that had been more of a home to her than her parents' house; this is where it had all happened, friendships made, crushes concealed, all the fighting and making up, it had all happened in this Tower, in this castle. She realized then how greatly she would miss the safety, security and solidity of the school. Beginning the following day, she, Harry and Ron would be moving from campground to campground, searching for those horrible objects, and who knew when they would be able to enjoy the warmth and comfort of a home. As though he knew how they would feel, Dumbledore had advised the trio to remain one more night in the castle with the handful of students who would not be returning home that evening for various reasons. The boys, Ginny and Dean already had plans to sneak over to the Quidditch pitch for a final midnight game.

But if things went the way she hoped they would, Hermione would be somewhere _infinitely_ preferable.

She turned and took one last glance at herself in the mirror as she grabbed her Gryffindor robes. She had opted for a simple blue and white sundress with a lower cut front than she was used to and which ended right above her knees. On her feet were a pair of simple navy heels, charmed against tripping, and she had tamed her hair into sleek, large curls that tumbled freely down her back. Turning this way and that one final time, she pulled on her robes, grabbed her bag and left the room.

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><p>"Good afternoon, everyone," Dumbledore's magically-enhanced voice rang out over the clear, late afternoon assembly. "I would like to welcome you all to the Leaving Feast for the graduating class of 1998." He paused as the audience and graduating students broke out in applause. "Firstly, let me once again congratulate Ravenclaw on their winning of the House Cup this year; well done, Eagles." This was met by triumphant shouts and whoops from that section of the assembly while the remaining houses clapped good-naturedly. Once the mayhem had died down, the headmaster turned once again to the graduating class.<p>

"This is a special day for you all," he said, "surpassed perhaps only by your Welcoming Feast so many moons ago. On that day, we welcomed you into our family; you became part of a community of witches and wizards, learning the foundations - the very basis - of our world. It is an experience and knowledge that you will take with you as you leave here today and set out to greet your futures and leave your own mark on our little society.

"In addition to all you have learned at the capable hands of your professors through the years." He gestured respectfully to the row of teachers seated at his side. "I sincerely hope that - above all - you have learned to trust; to trust in a friend, in family, in a lover, and perhaps - most of all - to trust yourselves. You are all outstanding witches and wizards; and each and every one of you has something uniquely wonderful to offer. I urge you to trust in yourselves and in your abilities as you move forward.

"Within these walls," he continued, gesturing to the castle behind him, "you have laughed and cried, fought and loved, celebrated and grieved and all that is left for me to say is that whenever you should need it - no matter the time or the circumstance - Hogwarts will always be here to welcome you home."

Hermione felt a tear roll down her cheek at that; turning her face slightly to the side, she saw Harry gazing up at the castle with a fierce look of determination on his face. The school had been as much a home to him as it had been for her through the years, _more so_, as at least Hermione had had a loving family home to return to. Hogwarts had truly been Harry's home and as though the thoughts were spelled out on his forehead, she could see how deeply the headmaster's words touched him. This war they were fighting was not only for the greater good, as Dumbledore kept telling them, it was also for this school; it was to protect it from the influence of such a wizard as Voldemort, to prevent it from ever falling into such malevolent hands.

She reached over and gave his arm a squeeze, smiling at him when he turned to her. Nodding his head at her as though they'd been having a conversation, they both turned their attention back to the headmaster who had begun calling forth the graduates to accept their diplomas.

Her eyes drifted over the audience as she looked back towards the stage, seeing all the parents and family members sitting and smiling proudly at their children. It sent an ache of longing ripping through her chest and Hermione felt her lower lip tremble slightly. She missed them so much; they should have been here. They should have been here smiling and clapping along with the other Muggle parents who were seeing Hogwarts for the first and only time. How often had she dreamed of sharing this day with them? of finally being able to show them around the castle that had been her home for the last seven years?

She shook the melancholy thoughts from her head, swiping her fingers under her eyes and re-focusing on the headmaster.

He was going in alphabetical order, regardless of House, and the trio politely clapped, whooped and hollered along with their classmates at the appropriate times. Hermione's gut dropped when the "G's" were passed without her name being called, realizing what it essentially meant and growing apprehensive about it. She put it out of her mind though and carried on cheering, noting with amusement that neither of the boys realized that her letter had been passed.

The cheering rose exponentially among the Gryffindors as the Boy-Who-Lived was called to accept his diploma. Harry made his way to the stage, intercepted by Mrs. Weasley who grabbed her adopted son and squeezed him to her bosom in a bear hug. It was with decidedly redder cheeks that Harry finally made his way up to the stage where he shook the hands of each professor on his way to the headmaster. Hermione bit her lip to keep from chuckling at the slight snarl on Professor Snape's face as he shook her friend's hand. Harry found himself on the receiving end of another hug, this one from their Head of House before he finally reached Dumbledore who gave him an affectionate smile and firm handshake before handing over his diploma.

When Ronald was called forth, the cheering peaked again as the popular Keeper ran past his family - hoping to escape his mother, no doubt - and rushed up to the stage. The redheaded clan was clapping and stamping their feet as the youngest son shook his professors' hands and received his diploma, pumping his fist in the air triumphantly as he came back down the steps, causing Harry and Hermione to laugh uproariously.

Finally, all the names - save one - had been called and Dumbledore turned once again to face the assembly.

"Now, it is my great pleasure to call our final graduating student. This exceptional witch is without a doubt one of the most gifted students to pass through Hogwarts' walls in many, many generations." Hermione ducked her head as Harry began nudging her encouragingly. "Not only has she achieved record-breaking scores in the majority of her classes and examinations, she has proven herself to be a most helpful, loyal and powerful witch in her seven years within these halls and I know she will go on to do many great, great things. A hearty congratulations then to this year's valedictorian, Miss Hermione Granger."

Hermione felt the blush heating her cheek as she rose from her seat to much fanfare from her classmates. She saw and heard the Weasleys clapping and whooping and sent them a wide smile as she made her way towards the stage. She shook each of her professors' hands in turn, thanking each of them, and earning a quick hug from more than one. Professor Snape's eyes held their same dark intensity as he took her hand, giving it a warm, gentle shake and inclining his head towards her. She gave him a 'thank you' as well and saw him reciprocate with a smirk before she moved on to the headmaster, hoping fervently that he wouldn't make her give a speech of some sort.

He spared her that, thank Merlin, merely handing her the diploma with a 'congratulations' and shake of her hand before releasing her.

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><p>Dinner was a lovely and festive affair; the students shouted to one another up and down the tables, making plans and promises, swapping items and last minute gifts as the house-elves kept the tables heavily laden with all manner of food and drink. Hermione and Harry snickered at Ron, who truly looked like he was a condemned man having his last meal; he shoveled everything and anything into his mouth, having thirds and fourths and fifth helpings of as many different dishes that he could get his hands on.<p>

Towards the end of the feast, Hermione watched as Professor Snape rose from his seat. He caught her eye with a pointed look as he bid the headmaster 'good evening' and left the table, winding his way back up to the castle.

In a bid to keep up appearances, Hermione stayed with her classmates for another hour or so until the feast had long ended and the mingling and dancing had begun. Ron and Harry were with their old Quidditch team discussing Merlin only knew what while the teachers and families had dispersed and were socializing. Consequently, Hermione felt reasonably confident that she was able to slip out, unnoticed, and make her way up the trail and back to the castle.

Entering the warm and quiet school, she immediately made her way towards the stairs and down into the dungeons, her destination being the only one she reasonably expected to find him in.

She felt a frisson of excitement go through her as she approached the door to the Potions classroom, her mind immediately cataloging all the times and circumstances in which she'd found herself here. A trace of melancholy seeped into her happiness; she had sworn she wouldn't think of the coming day and what it would entail. She wouldn't think about what a betrayal it was to come to him in this way, knowing what the following morning would necessitate. She was again assaulted with the thought that perhaps she should turn back, perhaps it would be best if she spared them both the awful reality of it. But she didn't want to; for once, she wanted to be entirely selfish. She wanted to give herself over to him in the way that had been tormenting her for months. No, she thought; she was incapable of leaving Hogwarts without knowing what it was like, without knowing what he was like.

She took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door, pushing it open gently at his 'Enter'.

He was seated leisurely at his desk, some tome open before him, and he seemed to have been waiting for her. He remained in his full robes, eyes dark and fathomless behind that curtain of dark hair as he looked up at her entrance. Hermione felt a smile light her face as she walked, slowly and with a deliberate sway of her hips, up the center aisle and towards him. He sat up straight as he watched her, eyes tracking her every movement.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me?" she asked teasingly as she approached the desk.

"Ah, yes," he replied, leaning back in his seat casually. "Highest NEWTs in Hogwarts history, valedictorian, very impressive," he drawled, eyes giving her a slow once over as she rounded his table.

She gave a small laugh, one hand tracing the wooden desk lightly. "Thank you."

He gave an incline of his head to that, meeting her gaze and seeing the passion, fire and light flashing in their amber depths. Her face was glowing in the dim light of the dungeons; she looked happy - happy and excited - and the realization of it sent an answering ripple of delight through him.

"You managed to run away quickly," she commented, coming around and leaning against the desk, close enough that he could grab her and pull her into his lap in less time than it would take her to draw her next breath.

But he didn't. Deciding to let her make the move, Severus leaned back and met her eye again as he answered, "Yes, well I'd had rather enough of the _festivities_."

That last he bit out as though it tasted rancid on his tongue; he had a slight sneer on his lips that caused her to let out a giggle. His eyes went to her open lips, watching them most thoroughly and igniting a spark deep in her core.

She couldn't take it anymore. If some move was not made now, Hermione might conceivably explode right here in the dungeons.

"Severus," she began, shifting to the side slightly so that their knees practically touched.

His eyes flashed at her use of his name, nostrils flaring slightly as he seemed to try and hold himself in check as he answered, "Yes, Hermione?"

Feeling quite like a woman possessed, her eyes met his, the desire plain for him to see as she leaned forward so that her face was inches from his, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder for support. Their eyes locked and the moment seemed suspended between them until her soft, slightly breathless, voice broke it.

"Take me to your chambers and fuck me."

* * *

><p><strong>AN "Hogwarts will always be here to welcome you home" is - of course - a direct quote from the awesome J.K. Rowling, spoken at the premiere of Deathly Hallows Part II. I tear up whenever I hear it and thought it fit in nicely with the speech :p So there you go ;) **

_**Coming up:... you all know what's coming :p**_


	35. A Dwindled Dawn

**A/N Big thank you to Petite Mule for giving me a really great piece of advice on this chapter :) You're the best!**

**Also, title is from:**

**_"Morning without you is a dwindled dawn." - Emily Dickinson_  
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><p><strong>Disclaimer: See Chapter 1<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 37: A Dwindled Dawn<strong>

When Hermione woke, she found herself filled with the sweetest physical ache imaginable. She felt sated, complete, and whole in a way she couldn't remember ever feeling in her life. The memories of last night flooded her senses in an overwhelming and simultaneous fashion; all of a sudden, she could smell the glorious _maleness _of Severus' skin, the way it had bathed her in its muskiness until her own was barely distinguishable. She could hear his silky baritone vibrating in her ear, rumbling down into her chest and settling in her core with a low smooth humming. And his hands; sweet Merlin, his exquisite hands. The way they had roamed, fondled, pinched, soothed and excited sent tremors of arousal shuddering through her at the mere remembrance of it.

He had taken her outside of herself; he had emptied her out and filled her up again, had turned her into something _other _than herself. That night, he had been the sculptor and she the malleable clay, shaped and fired at his hands, his lips, his cock.

It was the most singular - _transcendent _- experience of her life and she had no frame of reference to compare it to.

Hermione found herself assaulted with a deliciously-welcomed herbal scent of sandalwood, and she carefully turned her head to the other side, barely breathing as she took in the sleeping face of Severus Snape.

He appeared at least ten years younger; the weary lines and wrinkles of his pale face completely smoothed over in sleep, the perpetual frown and stern set of his lips entirely gone. He looked... content; content and satisfied. The realization of it brought a sad smile to Hermione's face as she watched him sleep. It wasn't fair; none of it was fair, and a flare of anger and resentment towards the headmaster ripped through her as she continued looking at the professor, barely taking a breath while she clocked the steady inhale and exhale motion of that smooth, alabaster chest.

He looked like a god in slumber, an idol in repose and Hermione wanted nothing more than to wake him with a few strategically placed kisses across his torso. But looking past him and out the high window of the room, she could see the salmon tinge of dawn creeping its way across the Scotland sky and knew - at once - that she needed to leave. The boys would be up any minute and wondering where she was; they would probably raise hell and rip the castle apart stone by stone if she missed their meeting in the Common Room.

With a horrible pang deep in her chest that she struggled to ignore, Hermione silently slid out of the bed and tiptoed to her discarded clothes. She replaced her dress and robes as quietly as she could, keeping her heels in hand, and took one last look at Severus. Seeing a piece of loose parchment by the books on his nightstand, she contemplated leaving a note. But what would she say? What _could _she say that wouldn't come off as trite or patronizing or insincere? How could she convey in a note all the things she wanted to tell him to his face? It was utterly impossible and yet... she couldn't bring herself to leave him in complete silence either. Wavering back and forth for a minute, long enough for him to shift in his sleep, Hermione finally pointed her wand at the parchment, frowning as the wholly inadequate words appeared before her.

She took another final look at Severus, every fiber of her being urging her to remove her clothes and slip back into bed at his side, curling up into his form until the outside world faded away.

Unbidden, an image of Harry fluttered determinedly through her mind; his expression was the same one he'd held the previous day during the feast as he looked up at the school. She had a job to do; _they all _had a job to do. They had responsibilities to the war, to the cause, to each other; she couldn't break now, when they hadn't even started yet. The boys needed her; abandoning Harry because she didn't want to leave Severus' side was simply not an option. And despite what people constantly said about her intelligence, she could not think of a way to satisfy both causes.

Severus would have to understand; he'd just _have _to understand and forgive her for this.

She hoped he would forgive her for this.

* * *

><p>When Severus opened his eyes (the bright morning sunlight an abhorrent irritant which caused him to resolutely snap them shut again), it was with the immediate sense that the witch was gone. That realization was instantly followed by a feeling of self-repugnance that his skills as a spy had fallen so low in the face of the deeply satisfied slumber he had succumbed to that she'd been able to slip out without him waking. Severus could not remember ever having had such a contented and rested sleep in his long life. At some point - he could not remember exactly when - he had finally removed his hands from the witch and allowed her to drift off to sleep. He'd watched her for a time, marveling at this feisty, enticing and thoroughly arousing creature that had -somehow - found her way to his bed. He had half-seriously considered binding her to the bedposts, both to torment her further when she woke and to prevent her escape should he also fall asleep.<p>

He should have followed his instincts, he thought wryly as his hand explored the mattress at his side, eyes still refusing to open fully in the harsh summer sunlight.

She wasn't there; of course, the witch wasn't there. His senses had not fallen _that _far.

Reluctantly, Severus opened his eyes, running a hand over his face, cock twitching to life as he took in the traces of the girl's musky scent on his fingers. With a growl, he swung his legs off the side of the bed, standing and moving towards the bathroom, something twinging painfully in him as he noticed the bare floor where that delightful sundress and her Slytherin-green underthings had been discarded the night before. With an irrational sense of hope, he entered the bathroom, thinking he would perhaps - _perhaps _- find her lazing quietly in the tub.

It was an even more irrational disappointment that assaulted him at the sight of his dry and empty bathtub.

He relieved himself, determinedly avoiding the mounting sense of nausea and loss that was taking hold in his gut. _So that's the way of it_, he thought with a mental snarl as he flushed the toilet and moved to attend to his teeth. Brushing them aggressively while he sneered at his own sated and thoroughly debauched visage in the mirror, he was gripped with a sudden anger towards the girl. So she had, in fact, played him for a fool. Perhaps it was - as he had privately feared - simply a schoolgirl crush, inflamed by the sense of taboo involved in desiring the most undesirable teacher Hogwarts had to offer. And he had stupidly offered to 'court' her! It was a phrase he had never in his life used and he had used it on her. And for what? to be played for a fool by yet _another _Gryffindor witch? this one even more insufferable than the last?

_"Our agreement stands,"_; the memory of her sweet voice as she'd made the statement taunted him, and Severus spat viciously into the sink as he rinsed his mouth. She was probably having a good laugh at his expense at that very moment; perhaps her actions had even been some kind of retribution for his treatment of her through the years... treatment that he'd fully intended to apologize for in the most depraved manner he could conceive of.

Some small part of his brain nudged at him with the thought that she wouldn't do something so lacking in feeling, that it simply wasn't in her nature. It told him he was being unfair, that perhaps there was more at play here than what he knew. That part of his mind tossed out image after image of the witch; the sound of her gasps every time he had sunk into her glorious depths, the look on her face each time he had brought her to completion, the feel of her fingers and nails digging into his skin - the tiny crescent marks plainly visible in his reflection this morning. It all bespoke of an entirely different logic, some alternate reality of which he was only the least bit aware.

As his mind courted these possibilities, his wounded pride and sense of indignation rose up once more, ruthlessly and brutally knocking each recollection down and back until all he was filled with was that consuming fury, tinged with an all too familiar humiliation that twisted his gut.

Snarling once again at his own image, cursing his stupidity and weakness in succumbing to her wiles, he strode back out into his bedroom. Stalking back towards the bed, he caught sight of her neat, no-nonsense handwriting out of the corner of his eye and warily walked to his nightstand as though he were approaching a band of centaurs.

The anger flared into a howling rage, surging up his chest and exploding in a crescendo of indignant fury at the base of his skull. With a hiss of impatience, he jabbed a finger at the parchment, watching it go up in flames. It hardly did any good; the fury did not abate in the slightest even as the words were reduced to ashes and Vanished with another wave of his hand.

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><p>Hermione was trying very hard not to panic; she was trying very hard not to glance back at the castle as she and the boys made their way down to the Apparition point, their constant chatter nearly driving her mad. Her every instinct told her to turn back, to go and apologize, to make amends, to at least <em>speak <em>with him before leaving.

It was an internal battle she'd been fighting since leaving his chambers that morning; twice, she'd nearly turned back as she approached Gryffindor Tower. And even when she'd met up with the boys and they were gathering the last of their things, still she considered running back down to the dungeons, slipping away from the boys on some pretense of meeting them at the gates. It was pointless and irrational, since she knew that if she did go back, Severus would not allow her to leave his sight without an explanation. And no explanation she could possibly think up at the moment would satisfy him.

And so she'd remained seated on the couch in the deserted common room, tapping her feet and jiggling her knees nervously as the boys finished collecting their things, wondering if he had woken yet, whether he'd seen her note, what he was thinking.

She barely heard a word they said as she numbly followed them out of the Tower, through the halls and out one of the side entrances, merely nodding and shaking her head whenever she figured it was appropriate. She bit her trembling bottom lip until it bled, the metallic tang of the blood in her mouth a welcome distraction from the taste of _him _that she was suddenly assailed with. Her mind threw up every taste memory she had of him - his salty skin, honey mouth, and the indefinable taste of his cock - as though it was also trying to convince her to turn back. Hermione bit her lower lip even harder in response, swallowing down the warm, salty blood to distance herself from those recollections.

The boys - a few paces ahead of her - were far too excited and nervous about their impending journey to notice anything off in their friend, chattering away as they lumbered down the slopes towards the gate.

It seemed like the longest walk, like the walk of someone condemned, Hermione thought with a slightly melodramatic air as the tall wrought-iron gates came into view. What was she doing? Why was she doing this? He was going to hate her; Severus was going to hate her for this. Her mind desperately threw out impossible solution after impossible solution as they exited the school grounds, Hermione's panic escalating wildly to the point where she thought she might actually lose consciousness if her heart didn't stop beating so furiously.

_He'll never forgive me_, she thought dejectedly, a tear working its way down her cheek as she took one last glance at the castle before Harry's hand landed on her arm and the nauseating jerk of Apparition took hold.

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><p><strong>AN** **And with that, my friends, we come to the end of Part I. I know this is an oddly unresolved place to end it and I had originally intended to keep this as one long, novel-length story, but I find that this is a natural stopping point for the time being.  
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**Part II is almost completely outlined and quite a bit has been written on it as well so no need to worry about the story being abandoned. I do want to get a bit ahead on the writing though as it is currently kind of patchy, i.e. full chapters are written that are not meant to take place until the middle of the story. So, I'm going to try and get at least the first five or ten chapters done before I start posting. Hopefully, this will happen sometime in late-February or early-March.  
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**Given that it will be started as a new story, I urge you all to click the "Author Alert" button down there so that you're notified when I begin posting; if you just have a "Story Alert" on this one, you won't know when Part II goes up.**

**Questions that will be answered in Part II:   
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**- Will Severus recover his memories? How will it happen? And what kind of confrontation will it bring about between him and the headmaster?**

**- What will happen between Severus and Hermione? Can he forgive her for her actions? How will she explain herself? And what did her note say?  
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**- How will the search for the Horcruxes progress? Will it change and alter the trio's relationship with one another?  
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**- Will the Order become involved in the search? How will Dumbledore justify his actions?  
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**Let me say, once again how appreciative and humbled I am by the support and encouragement I've found here. You all make me smile and I certainly hope you will follow me as I see "Purpose" through to the end.  
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**P.S. ****I won't be completely silent; I have a story that's been niggling at me for months now and I'm going to try and punch it out in the interim period... It will probably be a short-med length one and I hope to hear your thoughts on it :) **

**All the best,**

**LDaemon  
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